


Bend and Snap

by dreamingofsiha



Series: You're Not Pretty, But You've Got It Going On [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Themes, Drug Use, F/M, Ghouls, Self Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingofsiha/pseuds/dreamingofsiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hancock's lost many things since he went ghoul. A toe, his left nipple, the minuscule amount of fucks he had left to give – but not his ability to remember a face. Jet induced haze or stone cold sober (even as rare as <i>that</i> is), he remembers everyone he's ever met. Why is it, then, that he can't remember where he's seen <i>her</i> before? </p><p>In which the sole survivor was a pin up model before the war, and Hancock's unaware that he's a fan of her work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating may change to explicit - however I think the explicit stuff will be in the second part. My Sole Survivor's name is Zoe, and you can see pictures of her here: http://dreaminginstasis.tumblr.com/tagged/oc:+zoe if you'd like to visualise her whilst reading. If not - that's totally fine too!

Hancock's lost many things since he went ghoul. A toe, his left nipple, the minuscule amount of fucks he had left to give – but not his ability to remember a face. Jet induced haze or stone cold sober (even as rare as _that_ is), he remembers everyone he's ever met. Once he had ascended to Mayor of Goodneighbor, the ability had become especially useful – kicking assholes out that he knew were not his kind of trouble before they had even properly set foot in the town meant the citizens of Goodneighbor had (mostly) kept the gutters free of blood that didn't need to be spilled. He was all about a good riot, but that didn't mean he approved of complete anarchy.

The ability in question is the same ability that is driving him up the fucking wall. Four months has passed since Zoe and her mutt stumbled into his town, and he's been travelling with her for the next two that followed. Every time he looks at her, he can feel recognition twinging in his creaky bones, but for the first time in his life, he hasn't got a goddamn _clue_ where he's seen those hazel eyes and ridiculous cheekbones that have no business being that high before. Hancock likes to feel in control, but they way he can't place her is making him feel totally helpless.

He doesn't like to think that maybe this memory lapse is a small tumble toward the slippery slope that ends with him turning feral.

\----------

Another week passes, and he can't take it any more. He rises from the patio chair that he's set right in the middle of Sanctuary's rickety bridge (the direct sun beating down on him after withering away in the shadows of Goodneighbor feels heavenly), and strolls towards the ruined crap-shack that she's using as her own personal abode. He pauses when he sees that the front door is shut, and all of the lights are off.

“Damn it,” he mumbles to himself as he turns – and comes face to face with Zoe.

“Hey,” she greets; her smile is small and the bags underneath her eyes are dark, but her eyes are filled with nothing but warmth for him. He thinks he might be her favourite person to travel with, just quietly.

“Hey yourself,” he smirks back. Her shoulder length black hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and there's a giant streak of black something across her right cheek. She's probably been getting lessons from Sturges about correct upkeep and repair procedures for generators – the last time she'd tried to tackle the task alone, she'd electrocuted herself, and the man had practically forced her to take daily lessons from him whenever she was crashing at Sanctuary. Zoe had grumbled and groaned to Hancock about how much she didn't need a damn lesson and trial and error was the best way to learn, but Hancock had seen enough errors that ended in amputated limbs to know that statement wasn't true, and he'd encouraged her as best as he could to get her to spend the time with Sturges. Besides, Hancock had reasoned at the time, maybe she could eventually teach him a thing or two as well.

“What can I do for you, Hancock? You wanna come in?” She asks as she moves around him and steps up to the door to unlock it. Hancock likes the way her tone doesn't make him feel like he's asking her for too many favours – he's seen the way her face goes that special kind of controlled blank when she tries too hard to be polite when Garvey asks her for favour after favour after favour after favour after-

“Sure. I don't need anything, I just wanted to ask you something,” Hancock replies as he follows her into the dark living area of her home and closes the door behind him. He waits for a few seconds as she pads across the room to flick the light switch. They both squint at each other when the harsh fluorescent light beams to life.

“Oh?” she says curiously as she tilts her head towards the couch. They sit at opposite ends, but angle their bodies towards each other.

“Yeah. Look, there's somethin' that's been playing on my mind. Your face-”

Zoe's expression turns to utter horror as she brings a hand up to her face.

“What's wrong with it?” She gasps. Hancock laughs and shakes his head.

“Ain't nothin' wrong with it, doll. Except for the little smudge you've got-” Hancock taps his cheek and Zoe sighs as she pulls her sleeve down over her palm and rubs her cheek vigorously. It makes the mark worse, but Hancock doesn't say anything further in fear of getting off track.

“What is it, then?” She asks once she's satisfied that she's scrubbed the mark out of existence (she hasn't).

“Have we... have we met before? Ever since you walked into Goodneighbor, I just got this feeling like I'd seen you somewhere before,” he asks – straight to the point, like he always is. Zoe is too; it's one of the reasons they work so well together. They're both shit-talkers, but they don't talk shit.

Zoe raises a brow.

“I don't think so,” she says unconvincingly.

“You don't think so?” Hancock inquires.

“I'm one hundred percent sure, Hancock,” she says, this time with more certainty.

“Right,” he says, nodding slowly. Zoe drops her eyes to the faded rug before looking somewhere just left of him. Hancock narrows his eyes.

“You sure you never been to Goodneighbor? Not even once? Maybe when you were high or drunk?” Goddamn, this is killing him. He has to find out where he's seen her before – or else he's going to have to accept that he's finally losing the few marbles he has left.

She gives him that special _Are You Fucking Kidding Me_ look she's seemed to have perfected recently. The Look turns into a long sigh.

“I've been to the State House, but I've never been to Goodneighbor,” she says slowly. Her eyes hold his with a piercing intensity, and he's even more confused now than he was before.

“What?” He says eventually.

“I-”

“General?” Preston calls from somewhere outside. Zoe groans and slaps a palm over one side of her face.

“I'm in here, Preston,” she calls back, all sickly sweet to hide the fact that she's momentarily slumped against the back of the couch at the thought of one more settlement. Zoe groans again as she drags her hand down her face. The black mark slides down with it, resulting in a weird diamond shaped mark down one side of her face that reminds him of raider face paint.

“General, I've got a -” the man stops once he spots Hancock. As polite as Garvey is, it's pretty damn obvious that the sight of Hancock's ghouliness stuns him every time. He likes the kid, regardless. Some people might think it's weak to be a crusader for the people of the wasteland, but Hancock thinks it's brave. There aren't enough people willing to get their hands dirty for the greater good.

“Garvey,” Hancock greets with a tip of his tricorn hat.

“Mayor Hancock. I apologize, I didn't mean to interrupt,” Preston says as he tips his own hat towards the pair on the couch. Zoe waves her hand in a sweeping gesture to the battered armchair opposite her.

“Join the party, Garvey,” she grins. Preston stares at her for a moment – no doubt wondering what the hell is on her face – before acquiescing to her request.

Half an hour later, he's getting better acquainted with some jet whilst he watches her rush back and forth throughout various rooms in the house in a rushed attempt to organize a duffle bag.

“Have you seen my bandana?” Zoe calls from her bathroom. Hancock glances down at Dogmeat, who is curled at his feet. What remains of Zoe's bandana is strewn across the rug. Dogmeat turns to look back at him with pleading eyes.

“Ah, _shit_ ,” he mumbles to himself. The damn mutt knows he's got Hancock wrapped around his paw.

“What bandana?”

\----------

“You're gonna burn the bridge down one day, Hancock.”

He jolts wide awake, and his hat tips to one side on his head. The cigarette he was just barely holding on to during his brief na- _eye resting_ – on the bridge falls out of his grip. It falls between the rickety wood slats underneath him and his patio chair, then into the water below. He looks up at her – squints up at her, the rays of sun beating down on him from somewhere above her shoulder are like a big fiery _Fuck You Hancock_ – and grins.

“Welcome back,” he drawls, and she grins right back. He's pleased to see that she doesn't seem to be sporting any injuries, and definitely has all of her limbs.

“Thanks. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” She asks as she reaches out to adjust his hat into it's proper position. He lets her, likes the way she fusses over him even though he doesn't need to be fussed over.

“Cait and Marcy got into a scuffle, but Sturges jumped right in the middle of 'em like some big goddamn hero before Cait smashed Marcy's face in,” Hancock tells her. Zoe snorts, then covers her mouth when Preston passes them and gives her a look of disapproval as he speaks into his radio.

“Shit. Is he alright?” Zoe asks.

“Yeah, yeah, he's fine. His nose stopped bleeding after half an hour,” he chuckles. She raises both of her dark brows and gives him an amused expression.

“ _Jesus_. I can't leave you kids alone for even two days,” she says as she throws her hands up in the air. Hancock chuckles – she's probably the youngest one in town (minus Cait), but everyone listens to her like she's their mom. Their cool, gun toting, raider killing, jet inhaling, mom.

She holds out her hand, and he lets her pull him to his feet. He stumbles a few centimetres more than he needs to, and Zoe tuts and rolls her eyes dramatically as his chin almost hits her forehead.

“If you wanna get close, Hancock, all you gotta do is ask,” she teases before placing her hand in the middle of his chest and giving him a gentle push. They grin at each other, then stroll back towards the main settlement. Hancock loves the way she never recoils from him, never makes him feel like he's missing parts and ain't exactly the most handsome man around.

“So anything interesting happen while _you_ were gone?” Hancock asks.

\----------

A couple of hours and a huge feed courtesy of some of the newer settlers later, they're laying on Zoe's bed, riding out the lazy jet high. The fan rotates silently above them, and the candle light from the dresser opposite the bed makes the shadows flicker like a strobe light around the walls. They lay in silence; bodies pressed against each other as they stare at the ceiling with dilated pupils. Hancock always looks forward to a hit, but he's never looked forward to taking a hit with someone else before as much as he does with Zoe. She can be chatty as hell when she's stoned, but most of the time, she just likes to relax.

Zoe adjusts her night shirt that's ridden up to just below her belly button, and ends up closer to him when she's done. Hancock tries not to let his mind have it's way with her – he's seen the band on her finger. It's an old tradition, but it's not one he's gonna disrespect. Zoe's never mentioned a spouse or partner, and he certainly hasn't seen her with anyone, which means they're either dead or really far away. Hancock doesn't ask.

Zoe hums quietly in acknowledgement when he taps a finger against her thigh.

“I need a drink. You thirsty?” Hancock whispers as he turns his head to face her.

“Mmmmno,” she mumbles. Her eyes are shut, and she looks peaceful. Hancock nods despite the fact she can't see it, and shuffles out of the room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. He hisses when he stands on a toy alien and it jabs into the sole of his foot. Dogmeat whines an apology from somewhere near the couches.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hancock mutters as he limps towards the cooler. He pulls out a bottle of wine, and walks towards the hallway. He stops just shy of it when he hears voices out front.

“Curie, no. I don't think it's a good idea to ask her about-” Nick says.

“Oh, but I _must!_ Mademoiselle Zoe must have so much to tell me about what the world was like before those awful bombs! I never got to see it,” Curie replies sadly.

The other synth sighs.

“Look, doll. It's... it's a bit of a sensitive subject for her. She's only been out of the vault for six months, and she's still adapting to-”

Curie squeals in excitement.

“The vault! We _must_ investigate it! Who knows what we will find?” The Miss Nanny exclaims excitedly. Hancock scrunches up his face and moves towards the front door. He peers out of the glass window in the door, and watches as Nick and Curie walk (well, float) past Zoe's house and towards the next house which serves as their (as well as Cait's) abode.

Nick sighs again.

“I... I'll talk to her about it, alright? This issue requires a lot of... sensitivity,” Nick informs her.

“Yes! Thank you, monsieur Valentine!” Curie says. Hancock presses the side of his head against the door in an attempt to keep listening, but Valentine's reply is too quiet. He stands by the door for a few more moments in utter confusion. She came from a vault?

Well... he supposes that fills in a lot of blanks. Why her teeth were so white and goddamn perfectly straight. Why her boots were in better condition than any pair of boots he'd seen in his entire life. Why she made those jokes that flew over everyone's heads (his included – hell, his _especially_ ).

_Mademoiselle Zoe must have so much to tell me about what the world was like before those awful bombs!_

What the fuck did that mean? Did vaulties have access to holos from before the war? That was the only thing that made sense – if Zoe had physically been in the world pre-war, she'd be looking a lot less gorgeous and a whole lot more like him.

Hancock decides he's too high to contemplate the synths' conversation, so he makes his way back to the bedroom and resolves to ask Zoe himself.

“I know you said you weren't thirsty, but you've gotta try some-”

He stops when he sees the way she's curled onto her side and hears the way her breaths are coming slow but consistent.

“Oh,” Hancock whispers to himself as he quietly backs out of the room and walks across the hall to his own room. He finishes the wine by himself, then falls asleep thinking about the glimpse of smooth skin he'd caught before Zoe had righted her shirt.

 _Easy, there. The flirting's just fun_ , he tells himself. He thinks about the flirting nonetheless, though – the alternative of thinking about how he couldn't have seen her before and he is just going feral just isn't as enticing.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hancock?”

He wakes when a hand cups his shoulder and gently shakes him awake. Everything is blurry – including his memory of the previous night. When his eyes adjust, Zoe is leaning over him.

“Well mornin', sunshine,” Hancock drawls. Zoe grins and plops herself down on the bed next to him. The old mattress dips slightly, and he rolls towards her as a result. She shoots out a hand to stop him before he smacks into her.

“Careful, people are gonna talk if they see you in my bed,” he teases. Zoe rolls her eyes and swats at him playfully.

“That's if they're not already talking about you being in _my_ bed,” she says as she plucks a clump of fluff from the mattress beside her thigh.

“Couldn't think of anyone better to be involved in a scandal with, anyway. Might give Travis something interesting to talk about for once, too,” she adds as she winks at him.

 _Jesus_. He keeps upping the innuendos and teasing and suggestive sentences, but she keeps meeting him euphemism for metaphor for shameless flirt.

“You say that now, but I'm sure when the villagers are pounding on your front door with torches yelling for the ghoul fucker's blood, you'll change your mind.” He's half teasing, half serious. Mostly serious.

Zoe shrugs one shoulder.

“Eh. I've been called worse things. You gonna get up soon? I wanna head out,” Zoe says as she rises to her feet and stretches her arms above her head. The moan that escapes from her full lips when she makes when one shoulder clicks sounds heinously good.

“Where we off to?” Hancock asks as he rolls out of bed and tries not to notice the way her traitorous shirt has risen to give him another glimpse of the soft skin again. When she turns to face him, she's grinning like a feral. It sends a thrill through him.

“Goodneighbor.”

\----------

The route from Sanctuary to Goodneighbor is surprisingly quiet. A few raiders here and there (and one greenskin suicider who doesn't even make it anywhere close to them before Zoe utilises her Spray 'n Pray), but they don't even have a single injury between them. Hancock smiles to himself – if only he could convince her to wear the Silver Shroud costume when she's fucking shit up around the city.

“You've been quiet,” Zoe says over her shoulder as they cross the bridge that will take them from Sanctuary side of the Commonwealth to city side.

“Just admirin' the view, doll,” Hancock teases with a tip of his hat (it's not entirely a _lie_ , either). Zoe snorts and shakes her head as she slows down so he can catch up. She's a fast walker, and Hancock always ends up lagging behind. When he catches up to her, she stops and lets him take the lead. He turns back to give her a questioning look.

“Just admiring the view,” Zoe says as she makes a camera out of her hands and pretends to click the shutter button. Hancock chuckles, and Zoe skips forward a few steps to stand by his side. She bumps him with her shoulder and gives him a giant grin when he looks at her.

“Someone's in a good mood today,” Hancock remarks. It's good to see her smiling; too often she's got a scowl that could rival Marcy's, and that ain't a pretty sight.

“I'm just excited to go back to Goodneighbor. I've missed Daisy and Kent. I hope that he's doing alright,” Zoe admits.

“I'm sure he's doing great,” Hancock reassures her. The ghoul had been pretty shaken after his kidnapping, and had quite a few physical scars as well as mental ones after Sinjin and his gang of assholes took him. Zoe had cried when she had seen Kent's bloodied clothes and the fear in the ghoul's eyes, and Hancock knew Kent wasn't the only one traumatised from the experience.

The continue on in silence; skirting around buildings and trying to keep to the shadows to avoid any possible detection. The questions he wants to ask her are getting too heavy on his tongue, so Hancock decides to just ask.

“So,” he starts with weakly. Zoe tilts her head to cast him a sidelong glance.

“Mmm?”

“Last night I heard Valentine and Curie talking about you,” Hancock continues. Zoe pauses for a moment before she resumes her quick strides. Hancock quickens his own step to keep up.

“What were they saying?” Zoe asks cautiously. She's avoiding his gaze, and Hancock thinks maybe he's made a mistake.

“Something about... you coming from a vault? Is that true?”

Zoe stops. Her entire body seems to tense as she turns to face him. When she eventually moves her gaze from the ground to meet Hancock's, there's a pained look on her face that makes Hancock regret ever opening his big mouth.

“I guess it's about time you knew. Yes. That's true. I was in a vault. Then I left,” Zoe replies. Hancock nods as he contemplates his next sentence.

“Did you leave someone behind?” Hancock asks as he gestures to her left hand. Zoe winces and drops her eyes to the silver band. There's a long silence before she answers.

“In a way.”

“You wanna talk about them?” Hancock offers. He's not good at this shit, but he can see she's in pain and it hurts him too.

“No. Thank you, though,” Zoe mutters as she brings her eyes up to meet his again. Hancock nods, and sweeps a hand out for her to lead the way. She gives him a grateful smile, and they set on their way again.

Hancock still has so many questions. He's only met one vaultie before, and they were nothing like Zoe.

“I can see you looking at me. Just ask,” Zoe says. Hancock thinks about cracking another joke, but decides against it. Goddamn _curiosity_.

“What was it like in the vault? Was it open like 81, or all sealed up?” The questions tumble out of his mouth, and he has to bite his tongue to stop from asking more.

“Um. I was only in there for a short...”

Zoe pauses and scrunches up her face before speaking again.

“I think it was sealed up. Then it wasn't. I wasn't... I wasn't... conscious, while I was in there,” Zoe explains. Hancock frowns.

“What?”

Zoe sighs.

“You know how some of the vaults were used for experiments? Well... the one I was in was one of them.”

Hancock is momentarily speechless, before his mouth twists into a snarl. Those dodgy fucking Vault-Tec _bastards_ -

“They didn't hurt me. Well, I don't think so. I was in... _Jesus_ , you're going to think I'm bullshitting...” Zoe laughs and shakes her head.

“I know you ain't a liar,” Hancock encourages her.

“The vault was organised by the Institute. The day the bombs fell, we left Sanctuary to go and take shelter in it, and then when we were in there they herded us into these pods that were supposed to sanitise or disinfect us or whatever-”

Hancock clings too hard to the we left part. Then he notices the _the day the bombs fell_ and the _Sanctuary_ parts.

“- and then everything got really cold, and really dark. Then... I... I woke up once, but I couldn't get out of the pod. The second time I woke up, the pods were malfunctioning and it practically spat me out.” Zoe stops and turns to him. Once she sees that he isn't giving her his That's Total Bullshit And I Don't Believe A Word Of It look, she continues.

“I was in some kind of cryostasis,” Zoe finishes.

Hancock stares at her for a long time. She doesn't shy away this time; as if she needs to keep eye contact to maintain her courage.

“The day the bombs fell. You mean you were... you were there? In Sanctuary? When it all happened?” Hancock stammers. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all. _I've been to the State House, but I've never been to Goodneighbor_ , suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

Zoe nods solemnly.

“I guess I'm doing ok for being over two hundred years old.” Zoe smiles, but it doesn't reaches her eyes. The memory has washed desolation over her, and he can feel it emanating from her like waves of radiation.

“I'd say you're doing damn fine for being a couple of centuries old, love,” Hancock attempts to soothe. _Fuck_.

“So now we both know where each other came from,” Zoe shrugs as she begins to walk away. Hancock catches up to her and places a hand on her shoulder. She stops, and turns to face him.

“Thanks for listening,” she mumbles as she places a hand over his. Her gloves are soft – but Hancock dreams of her skin in it's place.

“Any time. I'm sorry I don't know what else to say, except... _shit_. That's rough.”

It's not very eloquent, but he's trying nonetheless.

“Yeah. It is. I'll be ok. I am ok,” Zoe says, like she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“You ever need a hand taking down anyone involved, I've got your back,” Hancock tells her. Zoe smiles, and grips his hand tighter.

“Thank you,” she replies as she pulls his hand from her shoulder and brings it to her lips. She presses a gentle kiss against his knuckles, and Hancock's heart stops beating for a moment.

“Aw, shit. Way to make a ghoul blush,” he jokes, because that's what she needs right now. Whatever horrible shit she's been through? He's gonna distract her from thinking about it however he can. He doesn't want to risk her falling into a downward spiral like he had when things went to shit.

“That's the plan,” Zoe says as she drops his hand and turns in the direction of Goodneighbor.

Despite it all, Hancock would be lying if he said he didn't take a moment to enjoy the view.

\----------

The moment they step through the gates of the neighbourhood, Hancock is swarmed by citizens eager to give him an enthusiastic welcome home. He hugs and shakes hands with exactly twenty eight people, and he spies more rounding the corner past KL-E-O's shop. Hancock turns to say something to Zoe, but she's disappeared from beside him. He scans the crowd around him, and eventually spots her chatting to Daisy in the ghoul's shop. When she catches his eye, she cups a hand to the side of her mouth and yells.

“Gonna go see Kent. I'll catch up with you later!”

Hancock manages to get a nod of acknowledgement in before he's pulled into another crushing hug.

\----------

Eventually, the crowd whittles away to just Fahrenheit, who has been standing back in the doorway of the old state house for some time – watching and waiting for her own turn to welcome back her friend.

“Hey, doll,” Hancock greets with a wide grin as he holds out his arms. Fahrenheit smiles and drops her cigarette to the ground before throwing her arms around him. She pats his back a little too hard – for a small woman, she's got a lot of physical strength behind her. He snorts to himself – guess he knows how to pick 'em.

“Hey, asshole. Good to see ya,” Fahrenheit says as she releases him and takes a step back to evaluate his condition.

“Glad she's keeping you in good condition,” she remarks as she leans forward slightly to make a show of her inspection for damage.

“Yeah, we go alright,” Hancock says as they make their way into the state house.

“Good,” Fahrenheit says with a nod.

“So talk to me. How've things been?” Hancock asks. It's been a long time since he's been back to the neighbourhood. It might be a hole, but it's _his_ hole, and he's missed it.

“Ham had to bust a cap in Frankie's ass. Turns out the idiot was snitching to the Institute, feeding them info on the Memory Den,” Fahrenheit informs him as they begin their ascent to Hancock's old den.

“Shit, he give them anything?” Hancock asks. He begins to plan for the worst case scenario – how quickly could Irma, Kent, and Imari move out and set up somewhere else?

“Nah. Ham got it out of him that he'd only been approached by some Institute asshole on his last visit on a scrounge run into the city a few days prior. Said he paid him a thousand caps up front, and promised a hundred more for each bit of info he gave him. Told Frankie to meet him at some mailbox in the city once a week to report,” Fahrenheit explained. Shit. They'd dealt with Institute goons in Goodneighbor before, but none of them had ever made a move on the Memory Den. The synth re-purposing that went on there were a thing only the Memory Den's inhabitants, him, and Fahrenheit knew about. It would be complete and utter chaos if the Institute knew that the Den was one of the places working against them.

Fahrenheit continues over his contemplative silence.

“Anyway. Frankie pretty much spilled his guts as soon as Ham had him cuffed in the chair and brought out the spiked knuckles. Started tearing up and said he was real sorry and wanted to fix it,” Fahrenheit rolls her eyes.

“Of course he did,” Hancock mutters. Frankie was a real piece of work, but it didn't surprise Hancock that the bastard had folded so quickly.

“So we said the only way he was gonna fix it was if he fixed it, you feel? Sent him out to meet the Institute guy, then took both of them out,” Fahrenheit says as she lingers in the doorway. Hancock moves past her to sprawl out on one of the couches.

“Good call. Any losses?” Hancock asks as he leant forward to pull a cigarette out of the squashed packet on the coffee table.

“Janie took a slug in the shoulder, but she's fine now.”

“Good. And you? You doing ok here?” Hancock inquires. Fahrenheit gives him a glare that's too soft to be lacking any real venom.

“Be better if you were here. I've been so fucking bored, and everyone always fucking _wants_ something,” the armoured woman groans. Hancock chuckles.

“Yep. That's what happens when you're the Mayor. Of the people, for the people, remember? Means we gotta do shit we can't be fucked doing if it will help someone,” Hancock doesn't mean for it to come out sounding like a lecture, but it does. In true Fahrenheit fashion, she rolls her eyes dramatically.

“I know,” she growls. Hancock grins and gestures to the couch opposite him. Fahrenheit stays leaned against the door frame for a few moments before she takes him up on the offer, and saunters over to the worn piece of furniture.

“And how're the recovery runs going?” Hancock asks eagerly.

“Good. We're still working on the south east section of the city. As you can imagine, the raiders and the greenskins and the ferals are making progress slow,” Fahrenheit explains as she lights another cigarette. During the previous year, Hancock had implemented a system that used anyone from Goodneighbor who volunteered as a scavenger for buildings that had been boarded up since the war. There were a surprising amount that had remained untouched in the centuries following the war – and Hancock wanted anything useful that might be in them. Whatever couldn't be distributed to the citizens of Goodneighbor went to Daisy, KL-E-O, or any of the other traders in town to sell.

“Anything good on the latest haul?”

“Bunch of lamps, some clothes, booze, stimpacks – the usual,” Fahrenheit responds. Hancock hums in approval. The two of them sit in a companionable silence for a while until Hancock notices the smirk on Fahrenheit face.

“What?” Hancock asks cautiously. Fahrenheit's smirk turns into a toothy grin as she twirls her cigarette around her calloused fingers.

“There _was_ something else,” she starts.

“Go on,” Hancock encourages. He's never seen Fahrenheit smile so wide. It's a wonder her cheeks aren't splitting under the pressure.

“Boyle and Ingrid had to clear a bit of rubble out of the way to get to this one shop that looked promising. When they got inside, it was filled with...” Fahrenheit trails off and Hancock raises a brow.

“It was filled with what? Are they alright?” Hancock asks with genuine concern. Ingrid and Boyle are the most effective people he has under his command. Boyle can crack any lock or terminal you throw at him, and Ingrid is highly skilled in any form of combat. Hancock had once seen her take out six triggermen with just a wooden walking stick. It was fantastic.

“Oh, they're alright. They got a bit of a... _shock_ , however. They were almost... _vibrating_ , with excitement.” Fahrenheit's playing with him now, and he's getting impatient.

“Fahrenheit. Just tell me what was in there,” Hancock growls in exasperation.

“Dicks. Lots of them.”

Hancock stares blankly at Fahrenheit for a few moments.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He says eventually. His mind immediately goes to Pickman gallery, and he groans. Great, just what the Commonwealth needs. A psychotic artist expanding his insane work to buildings full of severed dicks.

“Dicks, as in -” Fahrenheit makes a crude gesture in her lap, and Hancock scrunches up his face in confusion.

“This might surprise you, but I know what a dick is. In fact, I've got one myself,” Hancock says.

Fahrenheit throws one hand up in the air when whatever message she's trying to send clearly doesn't make it to it's intended target.

“It was a sex shop. From before the war,” Fahrenheit elaborates. There's a stunned silence before Hancock lets out a hearty laugh.

“That's great. Did they bring anything back?” Hell, if that wouldn't have been good for morale. He might even take a look at the loot later to see if there's anything he can use. The Commonwealth is a lonely place, and his hand's getting to be a bit of a bore.

“Yeah, brought it all. The dicks, costumes, a bunch of weird shit that I don't even wanna know what it's used for, and a few boxes of skin mags,” Fahrenheit gestures to the counter at the back of the room, and Hancock notices the cardboard boxes that have been stacked on top of it.

“The mags are in there, along with all the old ones that we had. Figured we could start a real big collection now,” she explains. Hancock turns back to her with high brows.

“You brought the mags in _here?_ ” He asks incredulously; the smutty mags are usually kept amongst the pile of other random shit in the common area in the roof. Fahrenheit shrugs nonchalantly.

“Like I said. 'S been boring since you've been gone.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hancock doesn't know how long he and Fahrenheit have been sitting down. Two minutes? Two hours? Two weeks? He doesn't really give a fuck – after travelling the few days down to the neighbourhood, it feels good to relax in a couch that has a permanent indent in the cushion from his ass, born from many evenings (and days) of doing this exact same thing.

It feels like he never left.

“'M tired. Gonna go to bed,” Fahrenheit announces as she stands abruptly and shuffles out of the room. Hancock gives her a lazy wave before taking another hit from the inhaler. An indeterminable amount of time passes before his gaze settles on the boxes on the counter at the back of the room. Hancock grins to himself as he slowly rises and saunters over to them. He grabs the box that's stacked the highest, then returns to the couch. He sets the box on the coffee table, and flicks through it. It must be one of the boxes that has the old ones in it, because Hancock ain't seeing anything in it he hasn't seen before. He stops when his fingers tug at a hard-cover edition, which he instantly recognises as an old favourite. Hancock doesn't remember how it came into his possession, but he's sure glad it did. The title is in thick red letters, and stands out even in it's semi-faded state.

 **Pussyfoot – 2076 Tearaway Calendar Edition**. _Aw yes._

“Well hello, beautiful,” Hancock murmurs as he settles back against the couch and eyes the ginger haired beauty on the front. Hancock's never had a hair colour preference; he's never been one to set limits on himself. He flicks through the pages carefully – it's in pretty good knick, but he doesn't want to risk a tear when he's managed to keep it together all of these years – and half reads the articles, half looks at the pictures. Hancock doesn't understand most of the social and pop culture references mentioned in the articles; they're way before his time, and he ain't gonna ask Kent or Daisy what the fuck half of the shit means.

He turns the pages quicker as he gets to the tearaway calendar girls – Miss January and February are missing (they'd been torn out long before his ownership), but March to December have thankfully made it through the apocalypse and the top shelf perverts that hoarded said smutty material afterwards without any serious injuries.

Hancock can't help the sleazy grin that spreads across his mouth. He's not hard, though – as much as he likes to look, it takes more than a pretty picture to really get him going, but the women are still pleasant to look at. He reads their accompanying articles – their names, ages, marital status, occupation, hobbies, favourite positions – the standard shallow questions that are usually paired with risqué images like these. It's a shame, he thinks, that these kinds of magazines tried to make the women posing look as dumb as possible by throwing them only the most basic of questions.

Hancock wonders if Miss April believes in aliens, or if Miss June's ever been in a fistfight. That's the kinda shit he's interested in hearing about (he thinks Miss June might've been in at least one – the bridge of her nose is slightly crooked).

Miss July's a gorgeous dark skinned woman – black hair curled out in tight ringlets and a delicious shade of royal red on her lips that compliment the lacy red lingerie set she's wearing (or not wearing – it's hardly a set as much as underwear and stockings). Hancock nods in appreciation before turning to Miss August. He's always been a fan of June to November, especially.

Hancock's eyes flit over the accompanying picture, and go straight to the article. He likes to read them first - he might be looking at a smutty mag, but that doesn't mean he can't be a _gentleman_ about it.

**Name: Camilla Swanson**  
**Age: 25**  
**Marital Status: Engaged**  
**Occupation: Waitress/Dancer/Model**  
**Hobbies: Painting, dancing, seeing a show.**  
**Favourite Position: On top, of course.**

Hancock snorts at the last answer (his kinda girl), then moves his eyes across to the adjoining page.

His eyes almost pop out of his head.

“ _What the_...” Hancock questions as he holds the magazine mere inches from his face.

“Mayor Hancock, did you-”

Hancock's head snaps around to the doorway. When the guard sees what he's holding, he slowly backs out of sight with his hands up.

“I'm... I'm so sorry, Mayor. I didn't mean to intrude,” the armoured ghoul apologises as he moves out of sight. Hancock narrows his eyes at the doorway, then returns his gaze to the magazine. It's not the worst thing I've been caught doing.

He stares at the picture; his brain kicking into gear and reminding him _this is where you've seen her before._

_Camilla Swanson? What kind of fake name is that?_

“ _No_ ,” Hancock mutters in surprised disbelief as he tilts the magazine on a slight angle. The brunette on the page who bears an uncanny resemblance to Zoe is sitting on a fancy looking bed with gold sheets; black heels, stockings, satin gloves, and high waisted underwear the only items of clothing present over her tanned skin. Her lips are painted a more crimson shade of red than Miss July's, and her hair falls just shy of her shoulders – the front pulled up into two perfect victory rolls.

Hancock tries not to stare at her breasts just in case it is Zoe, but fails miserably in his (half hearted) attempt. They're on the small side, but they're firm and perky and _fuck_ , her little pink nipples are hard.

It's her. It's _her_. Fake name or not, he'd recognise those cheekbones and lips and eyes anywhere. The beauty mark on the rise of her cheekbone all but confirms that it's her. The vault story had been easy enough to believe, but he'd be lying if he was to say there wasn't some minuscule part of him that didn't buy the cryostasis part. Now? He's _thoroughly_ convinced.

Hancock slams the magazine shut, and shoves it in the inside pocket of his coat (which is easier said than done – they didn't have large hard-cover smutty magazines in mind when they made colonial wear). He sits on the couch in silent contemplation for a few moments.

Is this something he can bring up? How would he even bring it up? _Hey Zoe, I like to look at naked women in magazines sometimes, by the way, is this you?_

If it is her, her knows the answers to the questions he'd like to ask. Zoe believes in aliens (they'd vowed never to speak of the crash site again – it raised too many existential questions that both of them agreed they could never, ever, get high enough to answer), and she's most definitely been in a (many) fistfight(s).

Shit.

Shit shit _shit_.

He's hard.

_His kinda girl._

\----------

Hancock can't calm down for another half an hour. He's always found Zoe attractive – of course he has; anyone with a set of functioning eyes would. Not only is she hot as hell, but she's smart and kind and funny too. He'd never considered anything more than their working relationship, though (minus the odd impure thought) – he hadn't wanted to fuck up the good thing that they had going on. It was damn hard to find someone like her around the Commonwealth, and even harder to maintain partnerships when everyone was usually out for themselves. Hancock's sure that she would've had at least ten marriage proposals now from various people she's rescued around the Commonwealth by now if she wasn't wearing that ring.

The ring.

_Fucking-_

That helps him soften the rest of the way, and he can finally get to his feet and walk through the Old State House without Hancock Jr trying to poke an eye out (that may be an exaggeration, but hey, a ghoul's gotta inflate his ego somehow). Hancock only makes it to just outside of the entrance to the Third Rail before Daisy stops him with a gently grab of his forearm.

“Hey, stranger. Wanted to say hello earlier, but it looked like you had your hands full,” Daisy says as she moves to stand opposite him and extends a hand.

“Hey, you. Great to see ya. Everything been good?” Hancock asks as he clasps her hand between his and gives it a hearty shake.

“Fine, fine. Business has been great since they've been making headway with the searches out there. Had a lot of shit to sell lately,” Daisy explains.

“Good. I'm glad to hear it,” Hancock smiles as he releases her hand. He glances around as he does so.

“Looking for someone?” The other ghoul asks.

“Yeah. You seen Zo around?” Hancock asks as his eyes scan the crowd that have been sleeping all day and have woken up to party all night.

“Not since you guys arrived. If I see her, I'll tell her you're looking for her. Catch you later,” Daisy says with a smile and a gentle pat of his shoulder. Hancock nods, and watches until Daisy has disappeared around the corner. He considers going to the Memory Den to check if Zoe's still hanging out with Kent, but decides against it. It's real late, and she's probably already headed back to his suite at The Rexford. A particularly demanding grumble sounds from Hancock's stomach, and he swivels towards the entrance of the Third Rail.

Hancock tries to tell himself that if he doesn't see her until morning, he might be able to look her in the eye by then.

\----------

Of course she's in there. Of. _Course_.

Hancock tries to avoid getting into Zoe's and or Kent's line of sight, but his attempt at a tactical retreat is spoiled by a very excited and very drunk citizen, who staggers towards him and raises his bottle of... something alcoholic... into the air. The man stumbles, and small drops of the mystery liquid splatter against Hancock's shoulder as he lunges forward to steady the man (John? Jake? He might be good with faces, but he's fucking _terrible_ with names).

“Look, everyone, Mayor Hancock's back!” The man proclaims. The bar erupts into cheers and wolf whistles as Hancock sets the man back onto his feet and gives a small wave.

“Alright, alright, continue on with the debauchery, you filthy animals,” Hancock grins as he pats the drunken man beside him on the back. His order pulls more cheers from the bodies that have packed into the underground establishment.

“Hey, Hancock!” Zoe calls over the noise from one of the couches beside the bar. He turns to look at her, and she excitedly waves him over. Kent turns around from his seat opposite Zoe, and gives Hancock a bashful wave.

They want him to go over there. _Zoe_ wants him go over there.

Shit.

 _Fake it 'til you make it, brother. It's worked so far_ , Hancock reassures himself.

“Hey, you. Wanna join us?” Zoe asks. Was her voice always so... _silky?_

“Yeah, have a seat. We've just eaten, but I can see if Charlie can whip something up?” Kent offers as he sidles further down the couch to make room for Hancock, who briefly considers refusing the offer, until his stomach grumbles again.

“Woah. Was that you?” Zoe asks with wide eyes.

“Yeah. I haven't eaten all day,” Hancock admits reluctantly as he pats his stomach. Zoe is on her feet in a second; making her way over to sweet talk Whitechapel Charlie into making another meal. How she manages to sweet talk even the crankiest of robots is totally beyond Hancock. He watches her work her magic for a few moments before turning to face Kent.

“How's it going, Kent?” Hancock asks as he gives the fellow ghoul's arm a gentle punch. He doesn't want to risk hurting Kent; it's been a while since his ordeal, but Hancock knows how sensitive old scars can be.

“Good. Great. Things've been real good. I've had a tonne of offers on the Silver Shroud props that Zoe brought back!” Kent's excitement is contagious, and Hancock can't help but grin along with him.

“Yeah? You gonna sell 'em?” Hancock asks. Kent shakes his head quickly.

“No way. I'm gonna hang onto them until the day I die. Things like that are priceless. Besides, they were a gift,” Kent says as he waves his hand towards Zoe, who is now chatting to Magnolia, who is practically draped across the bar in front of the younger woman. The singer leans forward to say something in Zoe's ear, and she laughs. Hancock raises an eyebrow and turns back to Kent. Last thing Hancock needs is more material for the spank bank. He shouldn't have any material for his spank bank. Jesus _Christ_ , if there was ever any shred of doubt that he's going to hell, it's just died a fiery death in his pants.

“Good idea,” Hancock replies. Kent beams a grin at him before leaning forward to grab his beer. Just before Hancock moves to lean back in his chair, a small hand grips his shoulder.

“Brahmin steak alright?” Zoe asks. Hancock swallows and nods. Zoe smiles, and waltzes back over to the opposite couch. An awkward silence follows, and Zoe raises an eyebrow at Hancock.

“So...” she starts, “did you catch up with Fahrenheit?” Zoe asks cheerfully.

“Yep. Yes,” Hancock stammers. Zoe's brow raises even higher. The magazine feels like it's burning a hole in his coat.

“Right... everything ok?” She asks. Hancock's eyes widen.

“With Fahrenheit, I mean,” Zoe adds.

“Oh. Yeah, great. She sent out a few recovery missions, killed a couple of guys, you know, the usual Fahrenheit deal,” Hancock explains as he waves his hand in the air. Zoe nods.

“Mhm. Anyone find anything interesting?” Zoe asks.

Hancock thinks he might be having heart palpitations.

“Interesting? Uh, nope. Some furniture, supplies. Nothing interesting. Nope.”

_Play it cool, asshole. You're giving this one away._

“I see,” Zoe says slowly with a frown as she studies Hancock's face. He tries to keep it as expressionless as possible.

The silence stretches on until Kent speaks up.

“So Zoe was telling me about the vault and... before that. Did you know she's from before the war too?” Kent says somewhat awkwardly.

“I did know that,” Hancock nods. He casts a quick glance to Zoe, who has relaxed back against the couch and folded her arms across her chest. She's still frowning at him.

“It's amazing, right? I mean, not what happened to her in the vault, but... the cryostasis? Wow. Reads like a script from a pre-war science fiction movie!” Kent continues nervously. The older ghoul might not have the best social skills, but he's sure as hell trying. A waitress approaches their table, and wordlessly places three beers on the coffee table that separates the two couches before leaving again. Hancock all but snatches one right out of her hands and presses it against his chest.

“Yeah, it's all pretty wild. She looks pretty good for her age, don't you think?” Hancock teases. If he starts acting like Pre Finding Zoe Naked In A 200 Year Old Magazine Hancock, he might be able to avoid the inevitable what's wrong Hancock from Zoe when Kent leaves.

Zoe rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Good? I feel like a fucking beat up antique,” she sighs. Hancock grins and brings the bottle to his mouth. It's ice cold – Drinking Buddy's still doing the rounds, then.

“A beat up antique? No, _no!_ You're... you're beautiful. Like a classy pre-war pin up in one of those old department store fashion catalogues that Irma has!” Kent stammers.

Hancock almost squirts his drink out of his nose.

_If only you knew, buddy._

Hancock looks at Zoe, whose shoulders are more tense than Hancock's ever seen them before. _Bingo_. There's the confirmation.

“Oh, Kent. That's very sweet of you to say,” Zoe says as she regains her composure and gives Kent a warm smile.

“Just telling the truth. Goodneighbor's lucky to have you. _You're_ lucky to have her,” Kent tells Hancock.

“Damn right we are. Even if you are a beat up antique, you're not broken,” Hancock says. Zoe's face softens. He supposes he doesn't comfort or reassure her as much as he should – even before he knew her story, he could tell there was something deep and dark weighing down her shoulders.

“That's because I've taped myself up with all those damn rolls of duct tape that we keep finding,” she jokes.

“Here.”

Hancock almost jumps out of his seat as Charlie appears at his side.

“Thanks,” Hancock mutters as he takes the plate from Charlie.

“Only because you're the Mayor, and she asked nicely,” Charlie says before gliding off to attend to the bar. Zoe laughs at the robot's gruff manner before taking another swig of her beer. She tips her head back, and Hancock is immediately transfixed on the lines of her throat. And the way her full lips encircle the mouth of the bottle.

Hancock shakes his head and looks down at his meal. He eats in silence while Kent and Zoe banter about Goodneighbor and something from before the war called a 'Cripsy Cream'.

“What's a Cripsy Cream?” Hancock asks through a mouth full of food.

“A _Krispy Kreme_ is a doughnut They came in all kinds of flavours, and you get get them glazed or iced or filled or just plain,” Zoe says with a wistful sigh as she looks up at the ceiling; no doubt imagining the pre-war sweet.

“What was your favourite flavour, Kent?” Zoe asks as she drops her gaze down to the ghoul beside Hancock. Kent taps a finger against his chin a few times as he contemplates the question.

“Peanut butter and kreme. Hands down,” Kent replies. Zoe _moans_.

“Ugh, _yes_. I loved the maple iced. I could eat six in a day,” Zoe reminisces. She and Kent groan mournfully for the extinct treat in unison.

“Well, damn, way to make a ghoul feel like he's missing out,” Hancock says as he pokes glumly at the few pieces of steak he has left.

“If it's any consolation, we're all missing out. At least you don't know what you're missing,” Zoe says through a pout.

_Oh, I know exactly what I'm missing._

“Better to not have something at all then have it and lose it,” Kent agrees.

\----------

Hancock's head is pounding. Decades of almost constant drug use means the longer he goes without it, the more he needs it. He didn't realise that it had been a couple of hours since his last hit – the time had flown by once Kent and Zoe had decided to tell him all about their favourite things from before the war. Hancock had struggled not to ask Zoe about _painting_ or _dancing_ or _seeing shows_.

“You alright? You look a bit...” Zoe trails off and wiggles her hand in the air in an uncertain way as they step through the door to his private suite. Hancock breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that it's been cleaned – he'd left rather abruptly last time and had left it in total disarray.

“I'll be fine,” Hancock assures her with a smile. She returns one as she briefly brushes her hand against his.

“I'm gonna take a bath, unless you wanna go first?” Zoe offers as she slips off her bomber jacket and hangs it on the coat stand beside the front door.

“You go ahead, love. I can wait,” Hancock tells her as he crosses the room and flops face down onto the sofa. The corner of the hard-cover magazine jabs into a rib, and he has to bite his tongue to not make a noise.

“Alright. I won't be long!” Zoe's voice echoes – she's already down the hall in the bathroom. Hancock waits until he hears the water running to turn his head and inspect the coffee table. Numerous jet inhalers and a couple of packets of Mentats have been arranged into a cracked glass bowl in the centre of it.

Hancock makes a mental note to tip his maid for her thoughtfulness.

He finishes an entire inhaler and is thinking about a couple of Mentats by the time Zoe is done. She strolls down the hallway clutching her dirty clothes and wearing only a towel, and Hancock has to look away and pretend to be fucking around with the Mentats blister pack to stop himself from getting too excited.

“Your turn!” Zoe calls over her shoulder in a sing song voice as she glides into the small room beside his that she has clearly decided now belongs to her. Hancock is somewhat relieved – he doesn't know how he would handle having to share his bed with her.

“Hope you left me some hot water this time!” Hancock calls as he slowly rises from the couch. He shuffles over to the coat rack and hangs up his own. It's a bit worse for wear, but he'll tend to it in the morning. He decides to leave the magazine in there, too – there's no reason Zoe would need to rummage around in the pockets.

“Of course I did! What kind of monster do you think I am?” Zoe calls out with mock affront. Hancock rolls his eyes and makes his way into the bathroom. When he opens the door, steam billows out around him and into the hallway.

No hot water for him, then.

Still, the barely lukewarm feels nice on his skin, and it's a relief to wash a couple days of dirt away. He decides not to tease Zoe about her hot water usage any further – it must be hard to adjust to the grittiness of the wasteland when you've come from a time where personal hygiene was considered a high priority instead of a rare occurrence.

Hancock's just finished washing the suds off when he hears a loud crash. He immediately turns off the taps and reaches for the combat knife on the counter beside the tub that he'd taken out of his boot when he had undressed.

“Zo? You alright?” Hancock calls through the slightly ajar door.

“Yeah I'm fine! The coat rack just fell down, I'm just putting it back u-”

Hancock freezes.

 _Shit_. The magazine weighed down his damn jacket. Flimsy fucking thing. How could he have been so _stupid?_

“Oh, _Hancock!_ You've been a naughty boy! Where'd you get this from, anyway? I haven't seen a single dirty mag the entire time I've been out here, and I've been looking!” Zoe laughs.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hancock hisses under his breath as he reaches for a towel.   
  
"Are there more of these? Have you been keeping them to yourself? That's not very of the people, for the people of you, Hancock!"  
  
By the time he's made it down the hallway and out into the lounge, the book is open in Zoe's hands and she's staring at it with wide eyes. It's tilted just slightly so that he can see that she's looking at her own picture. Slowly, Zoe brings her gaze up to meet him. Her expression is indecipherable – stoic and controlled like she's waiting for him to speak first; to confirm that he's seen her, or to deny it or pretend like he hasn't recognised the woman on the page in front of her as Zoe. A tense silence passes between them before Hancock decides he's just gonna do what he does best – joke, and hope for the best.

He clears his throat.

“So I'm gonna take a guess that the first street you lived on was called Swanson Street?”

Hancock ducks just in time to avoid copping the magazine square in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS this is the pose and outfit I had in mind for Zoe in the magazine: http://36.media.tumblr.com/c8fe225a2912c448acd810d6190b1482/tumblr_nupxp6Nvuf1ub2v0jo1_1280.jpg. Thank you for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this was going to be the last chapter, but there's going to be one more after this (it's gonna be smutty). This one goes into Zoe's back story a bit and how she tells Hancock more about the vault. I played around with some official dialogue as well as original stuff as I felt like the romances were written a little light, and there wasn't enough input from the Sole Survivor. Thank you so much to all of you for your support!!

“Where did you get this?” Zoe screeches as she stalks towards him.

 _So this is what true fear feels like_ , Hancock thinks as he struggles to keep his towel tied at his waist as he makes a backwards retreat.

“There are boxes of this kinda stuff in the Old State House. Fahrenheit brought 'em up there,” Hancock answers as he dodges hands that are trying to go straight for his throat.

“Bullshit. Did the Institute send you? Have you been spying on me this whole time? Collecting whatever information about me that you could? What, were you gonna take this back to them so they could all have a laugh about it?”

_The Institute? What?_

“What?! No, I-”

“I _trusted_ you!” Zoe screams as she presses her palms against his shoulders and shoves. Hancock stumbles backwards, and with the hand still clutching his towel unable to help steady him, he falls onto his back. He tries not to move too much on the rough wooden floorboards as Zoe looms over him. For such a small woman, she looks like a ten fuckin' feet tall murdering machine, and if Hancock were a lesser ghoul, he probably would've pissed himself by now.

“Zo, _listen!_ It's an old book. From way, way, _way_ before we met. It's where I recognised you from,” Hancock explains as he pulls himself up onto one elbow. They hold eye contact for a few moments until Zoe takes a couple of steps back and allows him to get up. Her fists stay clenched at her side.

“Even if what you're telling me is true, why did you bring it here?” Zoe says as she fold her arms just under her breasts. Hancock scratches his head. Why _did_ he bring it with him? Why didn't he just put it back in the box and pretend he never saw it?

“I... I don't know,” Hancock stammers. Zoe's stormy expression edges closer to a devastating hurricane.

“Well you better think fast, because you look like a giant, creepy, stalkery pervert right now,” Zoe informs him. Hancock cringes. _That's fair_.

“Come on, Zo. You know I'm not giant, creepy, or stalkery. A pervert, maybe, but...”

Hancock shuts up when Zoe's expression only darkens.

“Tell me the truth,” Zoe demands.

“I _am_ telling you the truth. I didn't come by that magazine in a sinister way. I'm not working for the Institute, and I'm certainly not spying on you. Honestly, there's a shit-load of this stuff in the State House. If you go up to my office, you'll see all of the boxes. I swear I didn't seek this out.” It hurts Hancock to think that she no longer trusts him, even if he does understand how the whole situation must look to her.

“Fine, but why did you bring it here? Why not leave it with the others and pretend you never saw it?” Zoe questions in an echo of his earlier thoughts.

A long silence passes between them before Hancock decides to give up the truth.

“I... wanted to look at it again,” he admits. Zoe's eyebrows shoot up. _Jesus_ , it sounds disgusting when he says it like that. From the look on her face, Zoe's disgusted too. Hancock doesn't know why he was expecting anything less; for all of their banter and flirting and even with the copious amounts of charisma that he has, he still looks like a corpse.

“You wanted to look at it again,” Zoe mutters. Hancock pulls the towel tighter around himself – if he's going to die in a towel, he's sure as shit gonna make sure it doesn't come undone when he does. He's always had a fear of dying naked – ain't no glory in going out like that.

“I wanted to tell you about it, but I didn't know how to bring something like this up casually,” Hancock attempts to explain. Zoe sighs and runs a hand through her still damp hair.

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I did a lot of... modelling back in the day,” Zoe says.

“Pass it to me,” Zoe asks as she waves her hand towards the position of the magazine that had been used as a projectile with the intent to maim a mere minute before. Hancock does as he's asked. When the magazine is in her hands, Zoe stares at it with a blank expression.

“Of course _this_ made it through the war,” she mumbles to herself with a sardonic laugh as she flicks through the pages. She pauses when she reaches her page and looks up.

“You really recognised me from this?” Zoe asks doubtfully. Hancock nods.

“Yeah, I did. You know I'm shitty with names, but I never forget a face,” Hancock replies. Zoe laughs.

“This is totally ridiculous. I can't believe...”

Zoe shakes her head and closes the magazine.

“Let's pretend this never happened, ok?” Zoe says as she steps forward and shoves the magazine towards Hancock.

“Done,” Hancock agrees as he takes the magazine. Zoe snatches her hands away, and Hancock's gut begins to ache at the thought that even if she could forget, Zoe probably isn't going to forgive.

“I need to go for a walk. I'll see you later.” Zoe says in a voice that's too controlled.

Hancock's never felt more pathetic than he has sitting there in a towel clutching a fucking skin mag as he watches her leave.

\----------

Zoe doesn't return until the first slivers of the morning sun stripe across his bed. Hancock almost doesn't hear her – she's only been getting better and better with her stealth skills. He expects her to go straight to her room, but instead, she knocks on his door. Hancock's stomach twists and tightens at the sound.

“Hancock?” Zoe whispers when he doesn't respond.

“Come in,” Hancock says as he sits up. Zoe only opens the door enough to be able to slide into the room, then closes it behind her. She moves to the end of his bed.

“Hey,” Hancock says when a long moment of silence passes between them.

“Hey,” Zoe replies. Her eye make-up is more smudged than usual, and the circles under her eyes have a bruised prominence to them.

“Did I wake you?” Zoe asks.

_Can't sleep when I'm up all night thinking about how to make things right with you._

“Nah, I've been awake for a while,” Hancock lies, “you wanna sit?” he asks as she shuffles to his right to make some room on the bed for her. Zoe frowns in consideration for a moment, before she kicks off her boots, then climbs onto the bed and sits with her legs crossed beside him.

“We should talk,” Zoe says, and it already feels too much like a breakup for Hancock's liking.

“We should,” Hancock agrees despite everything.

“The picture. Before the war, I did some editorial work to help pay off the debt from my law degree. The picture you saw is one of many. It's not the most revealing one, either,” Zoe admits as she drops her eyes down to her lap. Hancock raises an eyebrow.

Is she ashamed? She shouldn't be – there's no shame in doing what you have to do to pay off a debt, and he's certainly never been one to judge a woman for using her body how she wants to.

“That one was, however, the last job I ever did before the bombs fell. I had a few shoots booked in for late November and early December of 2077, but, well – you know what happened next,” Zoe continues. A small smile flashes across her gaunt face. She's wrecked; Hancock can see that, but he can still see how goddamn _vibrant_ she is, too – like a fucking beauty queen of the washed out wasteland, or something. Scars and all.

“My husband, Nate? This one was his favourite. He brought ten copies of the magazine when it came out. Said all of his friends were jealous.”

Zoe grins again – this time wider. Hancock feels a flash of something unfamiliar in his chest. Is he jealous too? No, Hancock's not jealous – he's got no right to be. Zoe doesn't belong to him, and she probably never will, judging by the fondness in her eyes when she speaks about her husband and the fact that he's a ghoul.

“Sounds like he was proud of you,” Hancock offers. Zoe snorts.

“Yeah, I think he was. Whenever I told him I wanted to do something, he'd say, _'sounds great, Zoe! What can I do to help?'_ , and even though he'd be gone for months at a time because of his military service, as soon as he got home, he'd help with everything – shit, I lost count of how many times he drove me across Boston just to get to a shoot. When we first met, I was in my second to last semester of law school. I'd had enough, and I just wanted to say fuck it, and quit. Nate talked me back into it. He stayed up with me until morning when I'd be trying to finish one of the endless fucking assignments to go over it with me and make sure I was doing the best that I could. I don't think I could've finished my degree without him.”

Zoe pauses and looks up at him.

“I don't think I could've looked after the baby on my own, either.”

The words repeat over and over in Hancock's head until he realises he's just staring at her like an idiot.

“You had a kid?” Hancock asks. His blood runs cold at the implications of her words. He's never seen her with a kid, which means...

“Yeah, I did. Well, I didn't have it – Nate couldn't have children, so we adopted. His name was Shaun. I never thought I'd ever want a child, but his skin was like Nate's and his eyes were like mine and he was just... as soon as I saw him, I knew he was perfect.” Zoe's eyes shine with moisture as she speaks.

“Zo, I'm so-”

“I need to tell you the truth about some things. Things that so far, only Nick knows about,” Zoe interrupts.

“Of course,” Hancock replies nervously. Zoe takes a deep breath.

“You know how I said that the Institute was responsible for what I went through in the vault? Well, Nate and Shaun were in there too. They... they killed Nate, and they took Shaun.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Hancock replies ineloquently. What else can he say to her? He's used to hearing Institute horror stories, but he's never lived one like Zoe has. Hancock doesn't think there's anything he can say to comfort her, so he resolves to just listen. He might not have any ears, but he can still hear just fine.

“Do you remember a while back when I was gone for a week, and you stayed at Sanctuary?”

Hancock nods. How could he forget? Cait had forced him to wrestle with her almost every day, Curie had poked and prodded him just as often for her 'research', and MacCready had insisted on getting Hancock drunk every single night, after which he would wake up with no pants on in the morning (which Hancock suspected Cait also had a hand in).

“Well... I got a lead on Shaun. There was a man that had been looking after him – Kellogg, his name was, and Nick and Dogmeat helped me find his base. It... It turned out that Shaun's alive, but he's not a baby any more. He's ten, Hancock. _Ten_. They took him, and then they left me in the Vault as backup for whatever sick experiment they were going to run.”

Hancock's eyes widen at Zoe's revelation. He knew that the Institute took people, but some small part of him refused to believe that they would ever take a child. Take a _baby_. Hancock knew she had something dark that plagued her, but he would never have guessed that the abyss ran so deep.

“I need you to know all of this, because I'm going to get inside the Institute. I need to know if you're still gonna stick around. I'm not gonna hold it against you if you don't want to. The Institute is big game.”

“Of course I am.” The words tumble out easily; there's no deliberation needed for that question.

“But it depends if _you_ want me to stick around. Looking at... pictures of you without your knowledge even after I realised it was you was a pretty dick move,” Hancock says. Zoe nods.

“Yes, it really was.”

They stare at each other for a moment – the look that Zoe's giving Hancock is almost the exact same one that his mother used to give him when she was trying to discipline him without raising her voice (which was often). He withers slightly at the memory.

“I'm real sorry, Zo. About your husband, and your kid, and... me,” Hancock offers. Zoe's eyes flicker to her lap and then back to his.

“Thank you. I forgive you. Can we start again?” She asks hopefully.

“Definitely,” Hancock says after breathing a sigh of relief. Zoe's tense shoulders seem to relax, and a genuine smile spreads across her lips.

“Alright. Good. Now we really do know everything about each other,” Zoe says.

“How does it feel to have it all out?” Hancock asks. It had been unbelievably cathartic to tell her about McDonough and what happened in Diamond City and how he came into his ghouliness, and he hoped that getting her experience out in the open had helped, even if it was just a little bit.

“Feels good. I've been meaning to talk to you about it for a long time, but I just... I just didn't know how to start that conversation,” Zoe admits as she slides her hands out behind her and leans back.

“Well I'm glad you did. I'm gonna be right here when you stick it to the Institute, and anyone else that needs our brand of karma dished out to 'em. Whatever you need, I'm in,” Hancock tells her with all of the conviction he can muster. Zoe nods.

“It's just... it's so fucked up. None of this feels real. I keep thinking I'm gonna wake up. I know I'm not going to, though, which means I gotta do something. I've gotta fuck the Institute right back, somehow. I won't let them keep taking people whenever they feel like it. I can't let another person feel the way I do any longer,” Zoe tells him as one of her hands fists in the sheet beside her. Hancock nods – it's a goal that he can get on board with.

“You know, with everything that happened in Diamond City, I felt like I was the only one who saw how screwed up things truly were, who couldn't just pretend things were fine. Still feel that way... Or, I did. Until I met you. I know I run my mouth, but having someone who sees the world for what it is and is willing to do something about it? It's meant a lot to me. I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.”

Hancock feels damn lucky that she didn't throw him out of the fucking window earlier, but he thinks it's best to keep that to himself. He's not often rewarded with forgiveness, and he's not gonna screw it up if he can help it. Not when she's become so important to him. Hancock's ashamed that it took almost losing her for him to realise that.

After a few moments, Zoe still hasn't said anything – she's just there with that airy look she gets midway through conversations sometimes, and Hancock wonders if he's gotten too sappy. _Damn it_ , he's not good with this talking about feelings shit. If Hancock's being honest with himself, he's never needed to get sappy before – he's never had a long term partner or a best friend. Hancock had always looked at strong connections like that as a weakness in the wasteland, but he's never felt stronger than he does with Zoe at his side with her Spray 'n Pray (which he keeps insisting is way too big for her to handle properly).

“I guess we're lucky to have each other,” Zoe replies eventually as she gently punches his shoulder. Hancock makes a show of wincing and rubbing the spot, and Zoe rolls her eyes.

“You would've fallen apart by now if it wasn't for me!” Zoe exclaims as she slides off the bed and moves to the door. She turns back to give him a grin over her shoulder before she disappears into the lounge room.

There's not a single shred of doubt in Hancock's mind that he would've fallen apart by now if it wasn't for Zoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *triumphant trumpet noises* THE SMUT IS COMING (and so is Zoe if Hancock remembers what the fuck he's doing... ( ಠ‿ಠ) )


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's an extra chapter before the smut, huh? ;)

The following day, it's as if the magazine incident had never happened. Hancock's relieved – he was worried for a moment there that the damage to her trust was irreparable, but the way Zoe keeps grinning at him during their trek to The Slog makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

 _Ain't nothing warm or fuzzy about you – if Zoe didn't know that before, she does now,_ Hancock's inner voice reminds him.

“ _Asshole,_ ” Hancock mutters to himself. Zoe stops dead in her tracks on the faded line in the center of the cracked road and turns to face him.

“Did you just call me an asshole?” She asks with eyes widened in disbelief.

_Ah, shit._

“What? No! I was... calling _myself_ an asshole,” Hancock explains. That explanation probably doesn't do any wonders for Zoe's outlook on his already somewhat questionable mental health, but it's the truth.

Zoe glares at him with narrowed eyes.

“Riiiight,” she says as she folds her arms across her chest. The numerous buckles on her forearms and chest clang together noisily as she does so.

“You're the _last_ person I'd be calling an asshole,” Hancock reassures her. Zoe tilts her head slightly as she studies him.

“Ok then, so what prompted the self deprecation?” Zoe asks. Hancock shrugs one shoulder.

“You know how it is. Just dwelling on dumb shit I've said and done,” Hancock elaborates. Zoe shakes her head.

“Don't. It's forgotten, remember? We're peachy,” Zoe says with a smile as she gently slaps the back of her hand against his upper arm. Hancock lets out a puff of air from his nose.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. Now come on, I'm not going to stand for any more of this-”

Hancock feels a bullet whiz past his ear, and it takes less than a second for both of them to react – they dive behind a burnt out car on the side of the road and unhook their guns from their backs.

“You see 'em?” Hancock asks. Zoe shakes her head as she frantically tries to pull her gun over her shoulder.

“ _Fuck_ – it's stuck!” Zoe hisses. Hancock drops his rifle to the ground and grabs her shoulder to turn her so he can help. They both swear and lower their heads when bullets begin to spray the other side of the car.

“Quick!” Zoe shouts over the metallic onslaught. Hancock leans in to see what the gun is caught on – one of the buckles on her field jacket has come undone, and the metal clasp is jammed against the trigger. Hancock moves fast – faster than he's ever moved before, and in a few seconds the Spray 'n Pray is in it's rightful spot in Zoe's small hands.

Hancock still has no idea how she fires the powerful automatic rounds without falling backwards.

“Come out, I'll make it nice and quick!” A raider jeers during a lull in the gunfire. Zoe glances at Hancock and rolls her eyes.

“These guys. Honestly,” Zoe sighs. Hancock grins ferally. Zoe doesn't shy away at the sight of his exposed teeth and receding gums – she never does.

“They ain't got a chance,” Hancock agrees. A silent count of three passes between them, and they both pop up from cover.

\----------

It's a short fire fight, as usual. The panic and utter property destruction that the Spray 'n Pray causes is always helpful in making the enemy dive for cover and stay there, which leaves them wide open for Hancock to get around cover and take them down.

“How many?” Zoe asks as she jogs up to Hancock.

“Only two,” Hancock says as he nudges a scavver corpse with his boot. Zoe's tired eyes light up when she realises they're not raiders.

“Take what you need. I'll keep watch,” Hancock tells her.

\----------

Zoe's welcome at The Slog is no less love filled than his welcome at Goodneighbor was. The small settlement has expanded to seventeen thanks to Zoe's help, and all of the settlers crowd around her to welcome her through the gate that was erected by the side of the pool.

“Zoe! Good too see ya,” Wiseman says as they use one arm to hug and the other to grip each other's forearms in an odd shake.

“You too, Wiseman. What's new?” Zoe asks. Ten people pipe up at once with their own version of a status report, and Hancock wanders off to the playground equipment – Zoe's told him to relax when they get to a settlement whilst she checks on progress. I'll find you if I need you, she'd said. It had taken a while for Hancock to not feel like he was just abandoning her, but seeing the way she loves to do everything herself? He'd just be cramping her leadership style if he followed her around.

Hancock stops when he makes his way up the small ladder into the dome of the rusted UFO and spots another person has already taken up residency.

“Hey, handsome,” Holly says with a wink.

_Not this again._

“Hey, sweetheart. What's a ghoul like you doing in a place like this?” Hancock plays along. It's no secret that the ghoul has the hots for him and Zoe, but Holly obviously thinks that Hancock's an easier target with the way she's focused her attention on him the last couple of times he and Zoe have visited. She's a sweet girl – maybe a little too eager, but Hancock's not one to judge someone on wanting to find comfort or intimacy when there's so much shit going on outside of The Slog's fence, but... hell. He just ain't interested. However, even if he isn't interested – it doesn't cost him anything to play along. Hancock's not cruel enough to ruin the self esteem that Holly's built for herself. In fact, he's impressed. Takes a lot of guts for a ghoul to hit on a soft-skin (and it had been spectacular watching Zoe's eyebrows raise all the way into her hairline and seeing her left speechless for once the first time that Holly had confidently... _introduced_ herself).

“Taking a smoke break. I've got guard duty from five,” Holly replies as she raises her cigarette in the air. Her other hand reaches for the pack in her pocket, which she then extends to Hancock.

“Thanks, doll,” Hancock says as he plucks one from the crumpled box. He settles back against the metal, and uses his gold plated flip lighter to ignite the end of his cigarette. The adrenaline rush from an hour before still hadn't fully settled out of his stomach, and Hancock can only think of jet as he inhales the tobacco.

 _Later_ , he reassures himself.

“I take it Zoe's here with you?” Holly asks with hopeful eyes. Hancock nods.

“She is. I'm sure she'll come see you when she's done helping out,” Hancock says, and he means it. Regardless of how awkward Holly's blatant flirting might make Zoe, she always seeks out the ghoul woman's company to check on her each time she visits. Holly grins around her cigarette – pale sharp teeth holding the stick in place as the smoke billows through the space between them on her exhale. The ghouls sit in a companionable silence – which Hancock decides is a very unusual thing when it's Holly partaking in that silence.

“Everything alright, Holly?” Hancock asks. Holly glances away from him – her brows knit together for a split second before she returns her attention to him.

“Yeah,” she replies quietly, then, “actually, no,” Holly admits with a gravelly groan.

“What's up?” Hancock asks as he moves his hands behind his head and makes himself comfortable. It feels strange to be the one initiating conversations about feelings, but he supposes he hasn't been himself lately.

“Ever since Zoe helped Jones and Wiseman set up that recruitment beacon, we've had a lot of people trickle in from around the place,” Holly begins. Hancock nods for her to continue. Holly looks down to her side, where she stubs out her cigarette against the metal and presses it down a lot harder than she needs to. Hancock raises a brow at the squashed ashen mess she leaves behind.

“There's this woman. Real sweet. Came from somewhere near DC to visit a relative in Diamond City, and she just kind of... drifted after that. Her name's Sarah,” Holly says with a warm smile.

Hancock is terrified of where this is going – he's not the person to be asking for dating advice. Jesus, even _Dogmeat_ could give out better dating advice, and the mutt's only got one position up his sleeve.

He wishes Zoe was there.

“She's a soft-skin. Smooth-skin. Whatever you wanna call her. Obviously. Wouldn't have gotten into the City otherwise,” Holly adds.

“And... you like her?” Hancock ventures. Holly nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah. A whole lot. She's kind and smart and funny and beautiful,” Holly says with a wistful sigh. Hancock nods.

“So what's the problem? You talked to her?” He asks. Holly snorts.

“I'm guessing you haven't seen her. She's _gorgeous_ ,” Holly mumbles.

Ah. The 'ol _I'm A Ghoul And She's A Softskin Dilemma._

“So are you. You're a strong, confident woman who knows what she wants. Just talk to her,” Hancock encourages. Holly's hands fidget nervously in her lap.

“I... can't. I can't talk to her. She's too perfect,” Holly explains. A long silence passes between them as Hancock tries to think of the right thing to say. Holly stares at him expectantly.

“Well, if she's perfect, then she'll treat you with kindness – whether she's telling you she's interested in you too or if she's letting you down gently, but you'll never know if you don't ask.”

_Nailed it._

“What would you say to Zoe?”

_Wait... What?_

“What?” Hancock splutters. Holly raises a hairless brow.

“You know, to Zoe. If you wanted to ask her out,” Holly repeats. Hancock frowns and scratches the side of his head. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales before he feels like he can even _begin_ think about that question.

“I've... never thought about it,” Hancock says. It's technically not the truth – he's drifted into daydreams about her in a few drugged fogs, but those thoughts were more... carnal than romantic.

_You're a bad man, John._

“Really?” Holly asks with an unconvinced expression.

“Yep,” Hancock answers a little too quickly. The ghouls stare at each other; Holly's knowing smirk grating on Hancock far more than it should.

“Damn it, just go talk to her, Holly. Spend some time with her. Do nice shit for her. Get her some sugar bombs or a new gun or whatever it is that she likes. You let her know you're interested, and I can guarantee she'll let you know if she's interested too, and if not, at least you've still got a friend,” Hancock babbles to try and turn the focus of the conversation away from himself.

Holly sighs as she pulls out another cigarette.

“I guess you're right. Maybe I'll see if she wants to go for a walk down to the river after my guard shift ends,” Holly concedes.

“See? That's a great idea. Nice and romantic, but not too over the top,” Hancock agrees. Holly smiles at him before popping the cigarette into her mouth. Hancock pulls one out of his own pocket, and they sit in silence again – this time until they've both finished.

“Well, I better get back to it. Thanks for the chat, Hancock. I really appreciate it,” Holly says.

“It's not a problem, Holly. Good luck,” Hancock says as he tips his tricorn hat in her direction. Holly shoots him another smile – one that he is relieved to see is more confident than the last – before she climbs out of the UFO. A few seconds later, Holly pops her head back in, and Hancock jumps in surprise at her unexpected reappearance.

“Oh, and good luck with Zoe. You guys would be great together,” the ghoul says before promptly disappearing again.

 _What?_ How would Holly know how great they would be together? Why is she so concerned about his personal life? How does she know that Zoe would even _consider_ going to ghoul town? She was a fucking _model_ , for Christ's sake. It's not as if he-

Shit. Hancock can't deny it any more. He's got the 'ol _I'm A Ghoul And She's A Softskin Dilemma_ , too.

\----------

Hancock wakes from his nap (not having Mayoral Duties to attend to every waking minute has seriously screwed up his sleep schedule) when the first drops of rain hit his face through the open top of the metal structure.

“Hancock?” Zoe calls from somewhere in the distance. Hancock groans and sits up from his slumped position. Doing so causes him to bang his head on the awkwardly bent out of shape metal above him.

“ _Shit!_ ” Hancock hisses as it takes him a few seconds for his head to stop spinning.

“Hancock?” Zoe yells again – this time her tone is more panicked than curious.

“I'm in the UFO!” Hancock shouts. The rain's falling harder now; the previously small drops have turned into liquid bullets, and Hancock scrambles out of the equipment. A hand reaches out to steady him as he does so.

“Were you... getting high?” Zoe grins at her own pun. Hancock raises a brow at her in determination not to laugh.

“That was really bad,” Hancock tells her.

“Have I ever told you that you're... out of this world?” Zoe tries again. Her hair is already matted to the sides of her face, and the rain continues to pelt them as they run for shelter in the common area.

“Also terrible,” Hancock shouts over the rain despite the fact that he's grinning and trying hard not to read too much into the joke. That's all it could be, right? He had a snowball's chance in hell with her before the magazine hiding incident, and now? Well.

“It wasn't my best work,” Zoe agrees as they finally make it into the common room. Hancock shuts the newly installed door behind them, then shrugs off his soaked coat and glances around. The common area is almost empty – there's only a few stragglers left in the small kitchenette leaning over a pot, while the rest of the settlement have decided to take cover from the heavy rain in the bedrooms until it clears. When Hancock looks to his left, Zoe is stripping out of her own soaked clothes beside him. He immediately looks away.

“You thirsty?” Hancock asks.

“Is that a joke?” Zoe chuckles in reference to the rain.

“Y-”

Before Hancock can finish, the warning siren sounds, followed by the machine gun turrets firing noisily from the perimeter of the settlement. People flood into the common area from the bedrooms in mere seconds – guns in their hands and their faces decidedly more confident than the first time Hancock had been there to help defend the settlement against an attack.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Zoe says as she hobbles out of the path of the exit whilst attempting to put her boots back on.

It is then that Hancock notices she's only wearing her thin white undershirt singlet on top.

“I gotta grab my gun from the gun locker in the bedroom. I'll meet you out there!” Zoe calls over her shoulder as she jogs into the next room.

Hancock swallows hard.

\----------

“If we have to clear out Breakheart Banks one more time, I'm gonna fucking lose it,” Zoe snarls. Hancock, Zoe, Jones, and Holly have taken cover from the super mutants in the swimming pool.

The downpour has only increased in severity, and Hancock's surprised that anyone has been able to fire an effective shot - the rain combined with the darkening sky means there's hardly any visibility past five or so metres.

 _Visibility_.

Hancock is trying very hard to not look at Zoe and her transparent shirt. Jones also seems to avoiding looking at her. Holly? Well... not everyone's perfect.

“Tiny humans!” A mutant roars from somewhere near the gate. By the sounds of it, only one turret out of the six is still firing.

“We're down to one!” A settler calls out.

“I'll show you a tiny _fucking_ human,” Zoe growls as she sprints to the shallow end of the pool and opens fire.

“Now!” Hancock growls, and Jones and Holly take advantage of Zoe's cover fire; both ghouls climbing out of the pool and firing on the distracted mutant from the other side. Hancock moves towards Zoe, and readies a fragmentation grenade. He throws it – just in time to explode the already very dead corpse of the last super mutant attacker. A settler taking cover in Arlen's shed squeals when a severed arm hits the glass.

“Well that was just overkill,” Zoe teases as Hancock saunters towards her.

“If you can't have a little fun with it, what's the point?” Hancock grins.

“Let's get these bodies out of-” Jones yells to any nearby settlers that have emerged from their cover.

“Hound!” A settler screeches, and both Hancock and Zoe turn back towards the gate to see a mutant hound bounding impossibly fast towards Zoe, who doesn't even manage to raise her gun before it knocks her down. The hound was fast, but Hancock's faster – it doesn't even get it's mouth anywhere near Zoe's throat before he takes it out with a perfectly aimed shot to the side of it's head. It falls immediately to Zoe's side, and she scrambles back up to her feet. When she turns to look at Hancock, there's blood all over her face and chest, and he can see from the way her eyes have gone dark and glassy that she's still processing the near death experience. Hancock jogs over to her and places one hand on her shoulder.

Her _bare_ shoulder.

The hound didn't get it's teeth into her, but it sure got it's claws into her – the wide band strap on her right side has been shredded apart, and the rest of the material is hanging loose just below the curve of her bare breast. With some careful manoeuvring of his gun, Hancock shrugs off his coat and places it around her shoulders.

“Hancock?” Zoe questions in confusion as he pulls her close to help cover her accidental exposure.

“Your shirt, love,” Hancock explains. Zoe tilts her head down as much as she can to look.

“Is she alright?” Jones calls from the edge of the swimming pool.

“She's fine, but she's gonna need a medkit,” Hancock calls over his shoulder.

“On it!” The other ghoul replies before jogging past him towards the common building with Holly at his heels. Hancock hears Wiseman issuing orders over a loud crack of thunder, and the settlers mill around them as they rush to attend to their various assignments.

“Let's get you inside,” Hancock says. Zoe pulls the coat tighter around herself as she gives him an appreciative look. Hancock bends down to pick up Zoe's gun from where it fell when she was knocked down, then joins her in the short walk to the common area. They sidestep around the hound's corpse, and Zoe grunts with disgust.

“Thanks for saving my ass,” she tells him as she looks from the corpse to Hancock through soaking wet strands of jet black hair.

“Any time. I'm just sorry I couldn't save your shirt too,” Hancock jokes, because he thinks that's better than declaring he'd walk through a mine field of mini nukes to save her if he had too, and a mutant hound is nothing at all compared to that.

Zoe gives him a wicked grin.

“No you're not.”

\----------

“It's gonna need stitches,” Deirdre decides after the deep scratch that runs from Zoe's collar bone to the side of her armpit is sufficiently cleaned and all of the surrounding blood is wiped away. Zoe groans.

“Only a few! You were lucky Hancock's so quick with his hands,” Deirdre adds as she looks over her shoulder to where Hancock's standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Hancock coughs into his hand to stop himself from laughing at the other ghoul's choice of words. He shouldn't have bothered – Zoe's snort tells him that her mind went straight to the gutter too. Deirdre tuts in disapproval.

“Oh, _you two_. Like a pair of teenagers. Want me to stitch you up now, doll?” Deirdre asks.

“Yeah, alright,” Zoe sighs.

“I'll go grab the other medkit. I'll be right back,” Deirdre informs Zoe before hurrying out of the room. Hancock whistles and stares at the door frame above his head.

“You can look at me, you know. It's nothing you haven't seen before,” Zoe says. Hancock looks at her in his peripheral vision (that's as far as he's willing to go when she's topless), but says nothing. Zoe snorts, but doesn't add anything else either. She's clearly comfortable with nudity, but Hancock's still got residual guilt from the magazine incident.

A _lot_ of residual guilt.

After what feels like an hour of awkward silence (that in reality is less than two minutes), Deirdre returns with the large green kit.

“I've got good news, and I've got bad news,” the female ghoul says as she places the medkit down at the end of the bed that Zoe's perched on.

“Go on,” Zoe encourages hesitantly.

“I've got everything I need to do the stitches. That's the good news.”

“And the bad news?” Zoe asks.

“I've got no anaesthetic left. Forgot I used it up when I had to give one of the new settlers stitches a week ago when he sliced open his shin helping with the renovations on the roof. You could get away without stitches, but it's gonna take a lot longer to heal up, and if the deepest part of the wound stays open like it is now, I've no doubt that you'll get an infection,” Deirdre says in a genuinely sombre tone.

“Do it anyway. I can't risk an infection right now,” Zoe says without hesitation. Hancock's brows raise as he turns his head towards her slightly.

“Are you sure? I think I'm going to have to go for four instead of three. Maybe even five depending on how your skin holds them,” Deirdre says.

“Yeah. I'm good. Go ahead.”

“You sure you don't want to pop a few Mentats? You might-”

“I'll be _fine_ , Deirdre. Let's get it done,” Zoe sounds far more confident than Hancock feels about the whole situation.

“Well, alright. If you're sure. Lay back against the pillow, and I'll try to get it done as quickly as I can.”

Hancock listens as Zoe shuffles around on the bed and Deirdre rummages through the surgical kit to organise everything she needs.

“Here, drape this over one shoulder and across your breasts. I don't want you to survive the hound only to be taken out by a cold,” Deirdre says as she passes Zoe what Hancock assumes is a towel or blanket of some kind.

“Thanks,” Zoe replies. After a few moments, Hancock chances a quick look towards Zoe.

“Oh, come over here. You can look now,” Zoe laughs. Hancock smiles sheepishly and strides towards the end of the bed. He eyes the wound – the middle part of it runs deep, and definitely needs stitches.

“What's that face for? Not squeamish all of a sudden, are you?” Zoe asks with a pained expression as Deirdre applies the antiseptic solution over the wound again.

“Me? _Squeamish?_ Sister, I look at this mug in the mirror every day. Ain't nothing else worth being squeamish over,” Hancock chuckles. Zoe glares at him – he knows that she hates it when he rags on himself like that.

“Don't – _ah!_ \- say things like that!” She says as Deirdre dabs the excess solution away.

“We haven't got any mirrors here for that exact reason. How did you manage to stop your mirrors from cracking?” Deirdre jokes to Hancock as she begins to thread the thin wire through the much thicker curved needle.

“Stop being dramatic, you two. I think you're both beautiful,” Zoe informs them with such conviction that for a second, Hancock is touched.

“Was a lot more beautiful when I had skin like you, doll,” Deirdre says sadly. Zoe frowns and shakes her head, but doesn't argue any further. She makes eye contact with Hancock, and holds it with a burning intensity. He feels like he's been stitched to the floor right where he stands.

“Alright, I'm going to start. Are you ready?” Deirdre asks as she places two fingers on either side of the wound and brings the other hand gripping the needle close to Zoe's skin.

“As I'll ever be,” Zoe says without breaking eye contact.

“Here we go, then,” Deirdre mumbles before she sets to work.

The first stitch causes Zoe's jaw to visibly tighten. The second furrows her brows. The third sets her lips into a thin line and she makes a low noise in her throat, but she still doesn't take her eyes off Hancock. He doesn't know what she's looking for in his onyx eyes, but he's guessing she's found it because she hasn't screamed yet.

“Doing ok?” Deirdre asks as she presses the needle against Zoe's skin in preparation for the fourth stitch.

“Yep,” Zoe responds in a strangled tone as she dabs at the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. Deirdre hums in thought as she completes the fourth stitch.

“Nine should do it,” Deirdre mutters once she's pulled the stitch tight. Zoe rips her gaze away from Hancock to look at the other ghoul.

“ _Nine?_ You said _maybe_ five!” Zoe growls. To Dierdre's credit, she looks utterly apologetic.

“I'm sorry, it's been a while since I stitched up a soft skin. I forgot how... _soft_ you are,” Dierdre tells her. Zoe closes her eyes and exhales slowly through her nose. She opens her eyes slowly and tilts her head towards Hancock.

“Can you come closer?” Zoe asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Hancock replies as he scoots around to the side of the bed opposite Deirdre. He grips the metal railing at the head of the bed with one hand, then nods at Zoe, who turns and nods at Deirdre.

“Wait!” Zoe shouts just as the needle is about to pierce skin again. Both Hancock and Deirdre jump.

“What is it?” Deirdre asks. Zoe turns to look up at Hancock.

“Will you... hold my hand?” Zoe mumbles.

“What?” Hancock feigns deafness, and Zoe rolls her glassy eyes.

“You heard me, you asshole.”

“Well with manners like that, how could I refuse?” Hancock teases as he reaches for her hand. Zoe laces her fingers around his, and squeezes it tightly. Her palm is sweaty, and Hancock feels terrible for not asking if she needed comfort like this sooner. Zoe's taken the stitches like a champ so far, but even Hancock would be grunting and groaning by the fifth if he was in her position.

“Alright. I'm good,” Zoe tells Deirdre as she drops her head back onto the pillow behind her and squeezes her eyes shut.

Hancock's glad that Zoe's squeezing his hand so hard that her own arm is shaking – it means she won't notice how much his own hand is shaking.

\----------

“Well that was not fun, let's never do it again,” Zoe huffs when Deirdre's finally finished and left the two of them alone in the privacy of the deserted sleeping quarters.

“You're telling me. I think you bruised my hand with your death grip,” Hancock winces in fake pain as he dabs the cool wash cloth against her overheated forehead.

“By all means, worry about your bruise,” Zoe says with an exaggerated sniff, which turns into a yelp when Hancock accidentally pokes her in the eye with a corner of the cloth.

“You're killing me here, Hancock,” Zoe says as she squints at him with her one good eye.

“Shit. I'm sorry,” Hancock apologises. Zoe glares at him as best as she can with one functioning eye before she sighs and closes it to rest with the other. Hancock gingerly continues wiping at her sweaty skin.

“Thank you,” Zoe whispers.

“Don't mention it. I'm happy to help,” Hancock replies. Zoe's dry lips turn up into a smile for a moment before her entire body relaxes unnaturally fast. Hancock stills – no. _No_.

“Can we talk? I've got a few things I need to say,” Zoe says quietly, and it takes all of the self control that Hancock has not to breathe a sigh of relief that she's not dead.

“I'm always here for ya,” Hancock tells her with a carefully even tone. He turns to the bowl on the bedside table to wring the cloth out, then re-saturates it with fresh, cool water. Zoe doesn't speak again until the cloth is brought back to her skin. Slowly, she opens her eyes.

“I've been feeling really shitty about how I reacted when I saw the magazine, and I-”

“Zo, please. It's not necessary. Thought we were supposed to be forgetting about it?” Hancock interrupts.

_Like I could._

“ _Please_ , Hancock. This is necessary. I know I said that we should forget about it, but I can't. If you really don't want to hear what I have to say, I'll shut up. But... I think it will be better to get it out,” Zoe says.

Hancock nods.

“Alright,” he concedes as he moves the cloth to dab at Zoe's matted hairline.

“I... I'm just gonna get it all out at once, ok? I said some things that were unfair. No, I made _accusations_ that were unfair. I've never ever doubted your loyalty to me, and it was wrong to turn on you like that without even giving you a second to speak. I... also don't think you're a giant, stalkery, pervert. I forgave you the moment you told me that you wanted to ask me about it but you didn't know how to casually bring it up – I've never been ashamed of my body, but I can see how seeing me like that might have been a bit of a shock. Anyway, I understood what you meant; there's not really an opportune time to tell someone you've found naked pictures of them. I had to go for a walk afterwards because I felt so fucking stupid for almost strangling you to death instead of letting you speak. I guess I was upset because I lost it, and that you saw me in the magazine because... that wasn't how I wanted you to see me like that for the first time,” Zoe finishes.

Hancock's hand stills again, and Zoe locks her gaze onto his.

 _Is she implying what I think she's implying?_ Hancock's brain suddenly feels like it's full of fog, and he can't think. Shit. Zoe continues once it becomes apparent that Hancock's brain might be short circuiting.

“Hancock, do you remember how you told me you felt damn lucky to have me as a friend?” Zoe asks slowly.

“Yeah, course. Still feel that way,” Hancock responds.

“And... that's what we are? Just friends?”

Hancock thinks he's surely mistaken – she sounds hopeful; like she's trying to give him a _come on_ that's more soft option than hard order. The way Zoe's looking at him confirms her intentions, even he can see that, but there's still a part of him that refuses to believe it.

Isn't this what he wants, though? To have her as not just his partner in (fighting) crime, but as his partner? No. She wouldn't joke – not about this. She can be hotheaded and quick to jump to conclusions, but she's not cruel.

Hancock awkwardly clears his throat.

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual. Maybe we'll get to, ah, act on those,” Hancock says with a chuckle. He throws in the maybe so she has an option too; he ain't gonna hold it against her if she changes her mind.

Zoe's watching him with wide eyes, and Hancock thinks that maybe he's interpreted her words wrong, or maybe she's realised what she's actually said and is desperately trying to think of a way to take it back. She might not be under the influence of any drugs or alcohol, but pain can be one hell of a headfuck.

“But I guess you should get some rest. We can talk in the morning, maybe when you're feeling a bit better,” Hancock says as he drops the cloth he's holding on to like it's his life support back into the bowl. When he pulls his hand away, Zoe grasps his wrist.

“I'd like that. To act on the impure thoughts, I mean. I'd like it a lot,” Zoe says so quietly that Hancock almost misses it. Her thumb gently strokes against the skin on the inside of his wrist as she smiles at him. _Fuck_ \- he wants this. He wants it more than he's ever wanted anything in his entire mess of a life – more than any hit of any damn drug, and that's been his one true love for as long as he can remember.

“I-”

Zoe is cut off by urgent knocking on the door to the bedroom quarters. Before he can think, Hancock jerks his arm away. When he glances back to Zoe, she looks hurt by how quick he was to pull away from her.

“Hancock? You in there? I need a hand with something if you're not busy!” Holly calls through the wooden door. Hancock sighs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“Go. It's ok,” Zoe tells him as she nods towards the door. Hancock frowns.

“Honestly. I'll sleep, and we will talk in the morning,” Zoe assures him.

“Hancock?” Holly calls again. _Goddamnit._

“Yeah, alright,” Hancock says as he reaches for her hand. When he gives it a quick squeeze, Zoe's expression immediately lightens.

“ _Hancock?!_ ”

“Give me a second, Holly!” Hancock snaps.

\----------

The whole time Holly is dramatically explaining how her date went, Hancock can only think of one thing; will Zoe still feel the same way in the morning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying it. If you'd like to talk Hancock or Fallout, feel free to shoot me a message on my tumblr, which is dreaminginstasis.tumblr.com! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. Real life is not my friend lately. Thank you so much to PeacefulPhoenix for checking over this chapter for me, and for your encouragement. You're the best <3

Hancock sighs as he balances the handle of the rake against his bony hip and wipes the back of his palm across his forehead. He hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour at a time, so he'd resolved to get up as soon as he heard the settlers who had the morning harvesting shift head out. Hancock knew that Zoe was probably going to rise late, but that hadn't stopped him from glancing at the door to the bed quarters that she was staying in as he'd made his way outside in the hopes that he might catch her.

“You alright, Hancock?” Wiseman asks as he looks up from where he's kneeling beside a ripe tato plant.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Hancock replies as he clasps his hands back around the wooden handle and sets back to work. He can see Wiseman grinning in his peripheral vision.

“What's so funny?” Hancock asks as he continues to rake the disturbed soil around the tato plants back into it's proper place.

“I'm guessing this kind of thing wasn't included in mayoral duties,” Wiseman teases. Hancock chuckles at the jibe that he knows Wiseman didn't mean to be received with any venom.

“Hey, now. Helping the little guys is what mayoral duties is all about. I ain't afraid to get my hands dirty. There just wasn't this much damn sun in Goodneighbor. The buildings blocked most of it out,” Hancock explains as he lifts the head of the rake and brings it back down to the dirt with a heavy thud.

“You ever get claustrophobic in a place like that? After Diamond City, I don't think I could go back to city life,” Wiseman grunts as he begins filling the small basket beside him with tatos.

“After being dragged all over the Commonwealth, I think I could live anywhere,” Hancock laughs. Anywhere except Diamond City, but he doesn't need to tell Wiseman how much of a cesspool it is; the other ghoul already knows from unfortunate first hand experience. Seeing how well Wiseman has done for himself helps ease the ache that Hancock gets every time he thinks about the City, and about how much more he wishes he could've done.

“I understand. Well, you and Zoe are always welcome here. After all you've done for us? Anything you need, just shout,” Wiseman tells him with a nod.

“Thanks, pal. Appreciate it,” Hancock responds with a nod of his own. The two men give each other a quick smile before returning to work. The do their duties in a companionable silence, and Hancock's thoughts quickly turn to Zoe. He chances a glance towards the common building, and his gaze immediately falls onto the woman herself. Zoe's standing in the doorway of the commons; her eyes narrowed and her expression soured at the severity of the morning sun. It becomes too much for her, and she lifts her forearm up to shield her eyes. She leans backwards against the door frame for a moment, and Hancock is worried that she's going to pass out, but she makes a quick recovery and ventures out towards the pool – pulling her large jacket tighter around her small frame as she does so. He watches as Zoe scans the settlers working in the tarberry bog, then as she turns her head towards the plots. When she spots him, she grins and makes her way over on slightly unsteady feet.

“G'mornin' guys,” Zoe greets in a husky voice that confirms she's literally just rolled out of bed.

“Morning, there. Good to see you're up,” Wiseman says with a smile over his shoulder.

“Yeah, how are ya feeling?” Hancock asks as he straightens up and leans on the end of the rake as nonchalantly as he can. He needs to play it cool – doesn't want to be too eager if the things she said last night end up not having any weight to them.

“Fabulous. Never been better,” Zoe tells him unconvincingly. Hancock raises a brow doubtfully. The other raises to join it when she shuffles closer to him.

“Can we speak in private?” She whispers.

“Of course. I'll be right back,” Hancock tells Wiseman, who doesn't turn around, but waves a hand in acknowledgement instead. Hancock sets the rake against the fence, then Zoe tilts her head in a request for him to follow her, which he obliges – all the way down to where the swing set used to be. She stops just short of the bathroom block which has taken the playground equipment's place and turns to face him.

“Hey,” she grins.

“Hey yourself,” Hancock returns. He frowns slightly – she looks nervous.

That ain't a good sign.

“So, uh, I was thinking that we could, um...”

Zoe trails off, then takes one of his hands in hers. Hancock looks down at the unexpected contact with wide eyes.

“I was thinking that we... that I could show you something that I've been meaning to show you for a while now,” Zoe tells him as she rubs her thumb over the back of his hand.

“Oh, yeah? What's that?” Hancock asks. Zoe moves closer and slides her other hand around his waist to rest in the middle of his back. She dips her head down for a moment before slowly looking up at him. Hancock casts a quick glance towards the plots, but no one has noticed them embracing yet.

Hancock desperately tries not to think about how close her body is to his; less than half a step forward and she'd be pressed completely against him.

_I guess she is really in this._

“There's a problem. This thing I want to show you? It's in Diamond City,” Zoe tells him.

“Oh,” Hancock replies flatly. Zoe frowns.

“Yeah. I can get you in and out hassle free with no drama, but I'm not going to ask you to come with me if you're not comfortable going back there,” she tells him. Zoe's fingertips start moving circles across his back above his coat, which results in a few seconds of Hancock being uncertain that his knees are gonna keep holding him up. Her touch is soft, but not hesitant, and the fact that she's touching him out in the open like this where people can see and not just in an empty bedroom sends a thrill through him. Even though he's surprised that she's been so bold straight up, he's glad – all he needs to do is reciprocate the touch, and they avoid an awkward conversation filled with _are you sures_.

Hancock moves his free hand to Zoe's waist. Even through the thick coat and the layers she's wearing underneath, he can still feel the dip of of her waist. He wants to run both of his hands up and down her sides. Hancock wants to do a whole lot of things – but he can't risk thinking about any of them when they're still in a public place. It's better not to tempt the feralness.

“Yeah, alright. I trust ya,” Hancock nods. Zoe beams up at him as she drops his hand and slides her other arm around him to pull him into a proper hug. Hancock embraces her just as enthusiastically, and rests his chin on the top of her head. She hums in approval as he holds her, and Hancock's powerless to stop a giant grin from spreading across his face.

Someone whistles from over near the plots. Before Hancock has time to react, Zoe unhooks one arm from around him and raises her middle finger to the general direction of the plots. There's good natured laughter, then no more catcalls.

“Assholes,” Zoe laughs into his chest.

“They're just jealous,” Hancock says as he reluctantly takes a step back. Zoe releases him and gives him a smirk.

“Who wouldn't be? I bet more than half of Goodneighbor wants to give the bad-ass and totally handsome Mayor their... _personal thanks_ ,” Zoe winks.

“Heh. I'd like to give _you_ my personal thanks,” Hancock drawls, and Zoe's eyes widen.

“Don't say anything you're not going to follow through on, Hancock,” Zoe sasses back in a miraculously fast recovery, and Hancock can't help but marvel at how easy all of this is turning out to be.

“Oh, I intend to follow through. I'm just surprised you're so eager,” Hancock admits. Zoe grabs his shoulders and rises to the tips of her toes in an attempt to meet him at eye level (she's not even close).

“Hancock. I assure you that eager is an understatement. A very _big_ understatement. I don't want this to be a one time thing, either. I want this... I want you for a long time,” Zoe says, and Hancock is temporarily speechless at her declaration. What did he ever do to get so lucky?

“Come on, Zo, you don't want to wake up to this mug every morning. Never wish that on anyone I cared for,” Hancock tells her. Zoe grimaces, then releases him from her grip and rocks back onto her feet. She drops her gaze to the ground and shakes her head before finally meeting his eyes again.

“Please, don't say those things about yourself. I've fallen for you. I've fallen for you hard. I like – no, I _love_ the way you look. I even love the way you fucking _walk_. Everything about you really does it for me, Hancock. I hope you can believe that,” Zoe says. This time, Hancock can't think of a joke. He's been with people, sure. Lots of people; but no one's ever said anything quite like that to him – not even when he wasn't a ghoul.

Hancock clears his throat to speak, but nothing comes out. He feels the same about her – she's everything he didn't even know he needed. They're similar, but she balances him. Makes him feel like he's worth something. Like he _deserves_ this.

“Was that too much?” Zoe asks anxiously once his silence has stretched on a little too long. Hancock shakes his head.

_Speak._

“Wasn't too much. I just... wouldn't expect that kind of lapse in judgement from you. But, I guess that works out for me then, doesn't it? Heh. Moments like this, I know all that karma stuff is bull, because no one like me should be this lucky.”

Hancock glances over to the plots – no less than six people gasp and turn back to the crops to pretend like they weren't spectating.

“Come on, love. Let's get this freak show on the road,” Hancock adds with a grin. Zoe throws her arms around him, and presses her lips to his mouth. Before he can return the gesture, Zoe moves her mouth to his ear. Her lips brush against his skin; sending goosebumps down his neck. She smells strongly of antiseptic solution from the previous evening still, but the stench does nothing to stop his pants getting a little tighter.

“I hope you got a good sleep last night, because you're going to be up all night,” Zoe purrs – then she's pulling away from him and walking towards the settlement's main building.

“We better hurry if we want to make it there before dark,” Zoe shoots over her shoulder.

Hancock moves quicker than a man on psychobuff.

\----------

Holly waits in the bathroom block for an extra ten minutes after Hancock and Zoe have walked away just to be certain that they don't see her leaving. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when she had just finished her morning bath and heard Zoe saying something about showing Hancock something? Well. She _had_ to listen.

“Holly? What... Were you in there the whole time?” Wiseman asks with narrowed eyes as soon as he spots her jogging up the small hill to the plots.

“Are they still here?” Holly rasps breathlessly. Wiseman raises a brow as a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“Zoe and Hancock? Yeah, they're still here. Think they're gathering their stuff to head out,” Wiseman replies.

“What were they saying?” Deirdre says as her face appears over Wiseman's shoulder.

“Oh, come on, now. Let them have their private business,” Wiseman sighs, but makes no effort to excuse himself from the conversation.

“It was _beautiful!_ ” Holly screeches.

\----------

“Alright. Perfect,” Zoe mutters as she takes a step back from Hancock and admires her work.

“You sure this is gonna work? What kind of pretentious asshole even wears sunglasses at night?” Hancock complains as he adjusts the aviators. Zoe's built a nose up with a clean sock placed underneath the head wrap that obscures his head and face, but the eye wear still slides down. It's been a long time since Hancock's been able to wear sunglasses, and he's uncertain how he feels about that.

“It's Diamond City. The pretentious assholes in there are too busy worry about themselves to look at any other potential pretentious assholes. Besides, only a couple of people are going to really see you. This is just a precaution,” Zoe tells him as she swats his hand away and adjusts the glasses to her own satisfaction. Hancock lets her; he's eager to have her hands on him in any context – spending most of the trek from The Slog into the City staring at her ass had done nothing to help dull the very graphic situations he was imagining in his head. The sultry looks she kept giving him over her shoulder hadn't helped, either.

“Yeah, you're right. I'll just blend right in,” Hancock chuckles. He hopes that Zoe can't hear the slight waiver in his tone – he ain't afraid of much, but the knowledge that he will soon be setting foot back in his former home is starting to sink in, and it's twisting him up.

“That's the spirit. Now, I need you to wait here for a bit. I'll be back soon,” Zoe tells him, and Hancock starts to panic.

“What? Where you going?”

Zoe takes his hands in hers and squeezes.

“You'll be safe here. See that person standing by the gate over there?” Zoe asks as she tilts her head toward the giant roller door. Hancock peers around her and out of the ruined building that they've taken shelter in from the night guards. All he can see is a young girl leaning defiantly against the wall, who can't be more than about twelve.

“Yeah, the kid,” Zoe confirms at Hancock's perplexed expression.

“When I go in, she's going to come and get you. If anyone asks, the official story is that you're an ex raider who's got an inside scoop for Publick Occurrences,” Zoe explains. Hancock nods in acceptance of the cover story.

“Her name's Nat. She's a good kid. She'll keep you somewhere safe until I'm ready.”

_Until she's ready?_

“You're going to meet a woman named Piper. She's probably – no, _definitely_ \- going to ask you a shit load of questions. You can answer them, if you want to. She's a friend, and she does good work.”

Before Hancock can get in any more questions, Zoe drops his hands and takes a few steps back.

“I'll see you soon. I promise.” Then, he's watching her make her way over to the gate. Zoe nods at Nat, who raises her chin a little higher in acknowledgement. Once Zoe has entered the City, Nat waits for a couple of minutes before she pushes off from the wall and makes her way towards Hancock. The closer the kid gets, the lower Hancock's estimate of her age goes.

He's never been so wary of one of Zoe's plans before.

“Hey, mister. I'm Nat,” the girl greets when she's safely inside the building with him.

“I'm John. Nice to meet ya, Nat.” Hancock decides to use his first name – John will set off a lot less alarm bells than Hancock if anyone in the City were to overhear the kid saying his name.

“Yeah. Come on, I'm gonna get you into the City,” Nat tells him as she turns and motions with her tiny hand for him to follow. They make their way over to the gate quickly, and Hancock is surprised when there's not a single guard in sight.

 _What, did you think I was above bribing?_ Zoe had laughed once when Hancock's brows had practically raised to what used to be his hairline the first time he'd seen her shove a small pouch of caps in some guy's face to get information.

“This way,” Nat tells him as they take a right near the gate and quickly make their way down a side alley. Nat stops in front of a green roller shutter with PROTECTED BY THE WALL painted onto it. The raps her knuckles on the shutter once, twice, three times, before it's pulled up.

“ _Hurry up!_ ” A brunette woman who looks like an older version of Nat hisses. Hancock leans down to be able to fit underneath the shutter, and the younger brunette follows behind him. The shutter closes behind them, and Hancock is left in a pitch black room.

“Anyone see you?” The older woman asks. Nat snorts.

“Of course not,” the kid replies with a slow roll of her eyes. The room is suddenly filled with an intense light that makes Hancock glad that he's wearing sunglasses. Still, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. When they do, he glances around the small storage shed until his eyes find Nat's cohort.

“I'm Piper,” she says as she confidently sticks out her gloved hand. Hancock takes it, and gives it a friendly shake.

“John,” Hancock tells her. A well plucked brow raises, and Hancock knows the unique rasp of his voice has given him away.

“Wait. John? As in John Hancock? Mayor of _Goodneighbor?_ ” Piper asks with wide eyes as she awkwardly continues to shake his hand.

“Uh, yeah. That's me. I ain't Mayor at the moment, though. If you need something there, ask for Fahrenheit. That bein' said, I could probably put in a good word for ya,” Hancock tells her as he finally manages to rescue his hand from the woman's grasp.

“You didn't know Zoe's friend was a ghoul?” Nat asks innocently with a gap toothed grin. Piper looks flustered.

“No. How did you know?” Piper asks with narrowed eyes.

“She told me. Why else did'ya think we had to smuggle him in?” Nat questions. Hancock decides that they're definitely sisters. Piper puts a hand against her forehead.

“Right. Ok. This is fine. Everything's fine. Let's go, then.”

The trio leave the warehouse through a piece of metal sheeting that Piper pulls back to give them just enough space to crawl through. It takes them into what seems to be a closed bar, and Hancock is thankful that he so far hasn't seen any people he might know.

“We've gotta go through the market, but there's not many people around at this time. Stores usually shut at eight, but with the nights getting colder, people are heading home earlier,” Piper whispers as they leave the bar. Hancock nods, and follows the siblings in silence. He keeps his head down and doesn't let his gaze roam more than a few metres ahead – just because he's in the city doesn't mean he wants to see the sights.

“Just a little further,” Nat says over her shoulder. Another thirty or so metres, and the three of them huddle in front of a red door. Piper unhooks a key-chain from her belt, and quickly unlocks the door.

“Get in, get in!” Piper urges as Hancock follows Nat into the home. Finally. Hancock looks up.

It's a small shack – sparsely furnished, and what little decorations the home features are in various states of disorganisation. Still, it's not the worst place he's had to hide in.

“Take a seat, if you like. Zoe said she wouldn't be too long,” Piper tells him as she moves towards the back of the shack and climbs the ladder. Nat gives him a smile before she wanders off in the same direction, and disappears behind an unidentifiable piece of machinery. Hancock slowly lowers himself onto the couch, and waits.

“So, _the_ John Hancock?” Piper repeats as she descends down the stairs and back onto the first floor. She's clutching a clipboard against her chest with one arm.

“Well, not _the_ John Hancock, but yeah,” Hancock chuckles.

“Interesting. _Very_ interesting,” Piper mutters to herself as she crosses the room and leans against the dented lockers behind her. “How would you feel about answering a few questions about your time as Mayor of Goodneighbor? Nothing too personal, of course.” Piper's grin is wide and filled with mischief. Hancock is about to reluctantly agree (because what harm could it do, really?), Zoe bursts into the room looking for all the world like she's been dragged through a bush backwards. Her hair is a mess, and her face is flushed and shiny with sweat.

“You ready to go, Hancock?” Zoe asks as she attempts to smooth her wild hair out of her face.

“Aw, Blue!” Piper groans as she points to the clipboard.

“Sorry, Pipes. Maybe another time?” Zoe smiles. Piper sighs.

“Alright,” she reluctantly agrees.

“You coming?” Zoe waves towards Hancock, who nods and looks to Piper.

“Thanks,” he tells the reporter, who looks quite deflated now that her hopes of an interview have been quashed.

“Any time. Always glad to be involved in something that sticks it to the man,” Piper replies, and Hancock's grin widens.

“I feel you, sister,” Hancock agrees before he turns and follows Zoe out into the market. They stand on the top of the makeshift stairs to Piper and Nat's home for a few moments before Zoe slips her right hand into Hancock's left hand and confidently leads him through the market. Piper was right – the usually bustling market is practically deserted (save a few shop owners still packing up), even though the sky has only just darkened completely. Despite the comfort and safety that Zoe's hand provides, it's still unsettling to pass through the City.

“Here,” Zoe says as she opens a door and pulls him in behind her. When Hancock hears the door shut behind him, he takes off the sunglasses and pulls down his face wrap before finally looking up.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Zoe says in an exaggerated Codsworth-style accent as she takes the face wrap and sunglasses from his grasp and tosses them onto a nearby armchair.

 _Humble?!_ Hancock's never seen so much furniture that's free of rips and tears and dents in his entire life. Hell, the place even smells nice. The only place that smells anything close to nice is the Wasteland, and that still smells like shit on a good day.

“This... this is yours?” Hancock asks in disbelief as he moves to the center of the room and slowly spins to take it all in. The lounge area is lit only by candles, and the warm glow that illuminates the room along with the soft background noise from the radio placed atop the stereo makes the place almost feel like home.

“Sure is,” Zoe replies proudly as she wanders towards the opposite end of the shack; past a small office area and a flight of wooden stairs, then leans on an oddly placed workbench.

“Come down here,” Zoe calls. Hancock wanders past a large dining set down to her, and follows her pointed finger. His gaze lands on a beautifully arranged bed. There's a bedside table on either side; both are littered with candles just like the living area was. Hancock's eyes roam back to the bed, and his thoughts roam with them.

“I had a bathroom built, too. Come look,” Zoe says as she takes Hancock's hand and leads him through a sliding door on the wall that the bed-head is set against.

“The water in the shower is lukewarm at best, but it's better than nothing. Best I could get considering the condition of the pipes around this place,” Zoe explains from the doorway as she watches Hancock stroll over to the fixture.

“I can't remember the last time I saw one of these,” Hancock mumbles. There seemed to be an abundance of bath tubs in the Commonwealth, but hardly any showers, let alone ones in working order.

Zoe laughs.

“Yeah, me either.”

Hancock bends to inspect the leaves of a potted plant – plastic, but shit, it looks nice. It ain't even dusty. Eventually, Hancock comes to a polished wooden dresser. A small square of paper is set upon a pile of neatly folded clothes. On it, one word neatly printed; _John_.

“Why don't you take a shower and put on some fresh clothes? I've still got a few things to organise,” Zoe suggests.

“Yeah, alright. Thanks,” Hancock says.

“There are clean towels on the rack there. Chuck your dirty clothes in the metal basket there when you're done,” Zoe tells Hancock before stepping out of the makeshift room and closing the sliding door behind her.

The cool water pouring over his naked flesh does nothing to lull the fire in his belly that thoughts of what he hoped was to come had ignited.

_\----------_

When Hancock eventually emerges from the bathroom clad in an unbelievably soft white t-shirt and slacks, Zoe jumps to her feet and gathers a small pile of clothes from the bed where she has been waiting for him.

“My turn,” Zoe tells him as she leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek on her way past.

“You telling me we could've showered together?” Hancock teases. Zoe gives him a dangerous smirk. 

“Don't worry, Hancock. We're gonna get real dirty. I'm sure we can help each other get clean again later,” she purrs before stepping around him and into the bathroom.

… _Fuck._

_\----------_

Zoe takes an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. Hancock wonders what she's doing – is she shaving off all of her body hair like she did when she posed for the magazines? He doesn't care about that shit. No one does, any more – and Hancock's surprised that it was ever an issue up for debate; it seems like an awfully silly thing for people to get their panties in a twist about.

Hancock sighs and returns his gaze to the Grognak comic in his lap. His eyes roam over the pages, but don't take anything in – not when Zoe's words and the way she looked at him keep repeating over and over in his head.

_We're gonna get real dirty._

They've gone from one to one hundred real quick, and Hancock still isn't entirely sure if he's been knocked on the head out in the wasteland and this whole thing is just an elaborate hallucination while he's really laying on a bed somewhere drugged out of his mind (it wouldn't be the first time). He hasn't ever been this _hard_ in a hallucination, though.

Hancock flings the comic onto the bedside table and scratches the back of his neck. Zoe had finished with the water almost half an hour ago, and had been blow-drying (he assumed from the noise – Hancock doubts that she's vacuuming in there) her hair on and off since. Just as Hancock swings his legs around the side of the bed to get up and grab a beer from the fridge, the sliding door opens and Zoe steps out.

She's completely naked, except for the winged eye-liner and red lips painted onto her face, and the fresh dressing over the wound inflicted by the hound. There's no hair on her body, either, and it stings Hancock a little to think that Zoe thinks he cares about that.

But still... _naked_.

“Thought I'd air dry,” Zoe says nonchalantly as she strolls around the bed and to the chest of drawers situated by the workbench. Hancock can't do anything but stare, and from the glimpse of the smirk he catches on Zoe's face before she turns to rummage through the drawers, that was the reaction she was hoping for.

 _Her body_. Shit, the magazine didn't do it anywhere close to justice. She's more toned than the picture – the muscles on her back are clearly defined, and her calves and thighs look like she could strangle a man between them. Her ass? Well, there are no words for her perfect ass. The Commonwealth might've been cruel to her, but it's been kind to her, too. _Very_ kind.

Zoe pulls a shirt out of the drawer and turns her body to the side as she watches him. She holds the shirt out in front of her with her thumb and forefinger, then deliberately drops it.

“Oops,” Zoe says with mock horror as she brings a hand up to cover her painted mouth. Hancock doesn't know if she's teasing or if it's a come over here, but either way, he wants to go to her. Wants to feel the curve of her waist and see how vice-like her thighs could be either side of his head.

“Uh uh,” Zoe says with a waggle of her finger, and Hancock reluctantly settles back down onto the bed. If she wants to play it like this, he's game. He's frustrated as hell, but he's game.

Slowly, Zoe steps to the side of the crumpled shirt and turns her back to Hancock. His gaze goes straight to her perfect ass, and his brows shoot up when she slowly bends at the waist.

The view of her so open and wet – _fuck_ , he can see her juices glistening at her entrance in the honey glow of the candlelight – makes Hancock feel dizzy.

“You like the view?” Zoe asks as she retrieves her shirt from the floor. Hancock is about to reply when Zoe slowly rises again. She does it with seductive grace and a flip of her hair, like in those pre-war pin-up modelling vids that he's seen a couple of.

“Heh. Like? I _love_ the view. You don't gotta pull a fancy bend and snap on me though, Zo. I'm ready to go over here,” Hancock informs her as he places his hands behind him on the bed and leans back. He tilts his head towards the bulge in his lap, and Zoe grins before striding over to him and standing between his legs. Hancock lazily trails his eyes up from her thighs to her face, then frowns. There's... hesitation in her eyes?

“You sure you wanna do this?” Zoe asks softly. Hancock's stomach drops. Of course. Of course she'd have second thoughts. She's a fucking... was... a model, and he's... well, he's him. Charisma can't make up for his shortcomings.

“Yeah, I'm sure. If you're not, just say s-” Hancock swallows the rest of his sentence when Zoe climbs into his lap and presses her mouth against his. Her hands grip his shoulders and pull his t-shirt tight across the front of his throat, but it's not entirely unpleasant. Hancock's hands leave the blanket and move to her hips, where he grips her hard enough to bruise. He might not have lips, but remembering how to kiss ain't something you can lose along with them.

Hancock pulls back reluctantly.

“So what are you into? Anything I should steer clear of doing? Something I should definitely do?” Hancock asks. He's never been one for planning for the most part, but he knows if you want something to work, you've gotta have a solid plan; and he really wants this to work.

“Do anything. I just- mmm,” Zoe moans into his mouth as his fingers dig into her flesh and grinds down against his erection. She drags her lips to his cheek, then kisses across to the ruined shell of his ear.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted this,” Zoe purrs into his ear. Hancock squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on her voice and the way her hot breath tickles him. “Even before you found that magazine, I wanted to... I wanted to... _oh!_ ” Zoe stammers as Hancock slides his hands around to cup her ass. The tips of his middle fingers press against her slippery folds, and Hancock can't help but grin when he feels Zoe's thighs go momentarily weak either side of his own.

“You and me both,” Hancock tells her as he opens his eyes and tilts his head to press his mouth against hers again. He deepens the kiss with his tongue, and he relishes the way she presses her entire body against him and cups the sides of his face in her small hands like she's trying to engulf him.

It's even better than Hancock could have imagined. He loves her lips; a full pout and much softer than they ought to be with the amount of running around in the Commonwealth that she does. He loves the way he can feel her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt. He loves how she holds his face in place like she owns him, but whimpers and grinds down against him like he owns her. He loves the way her body seems to fit perfectly above his. He wants to know how well she fits under him.

Zoe squeals and moves her hands from the sides of his face to hold the nape of his neck when he rocks forward to stand up.

“My turn,” Hancock says as he drops her onto the bed, then drops to his knees beside the bed. He places his hands over her thighs to stop her from bouncing against the mattress, then pulls her towards him until her ass is just at the edge of the mattress.

Hancock stares at the beautiful view her spread legs are gracing him with. No, this is even better than he could have imagined.

“What are you doing?” Zoe asks breathlessly as she props herself up on her elbows. Her face is flushed, and she's already breathing heavily. One corner of Hancock's mouth turns up in a smirk.

“Why don't you lay back, and let me show you a good time?” Hancock tells her. Zoe raises her eyebrows, then quickly drops back onto the bed and spreads her legs a little further. Hancock grins at her eagerness; pride radiates from the center of his chest throughout his body, and he can't remember the last time he felt this confident – _truly_ confident, not like the facade he puts on.

Hancock slides his hands from Zoe's hips to under her ass to tilt her sex up, and she lets out a breathy gasp when Hancock shuffles forward. He places a gentle kiss on her inner thigh, then works his way up to Zoe's heat at a pace that is excruciating as it is exciting for both of them.

“Hancock,” Zoe groans as she places one of her hands behind his head and applies a gentle pressure – juts enough to let him know that he's taking too long.

“Mmm?” Hancock hums in false ignorance as he runs his tongue along the thin flesh of her bikini line. Zoe shudders beneath him. His cock is so hard it hurts, but Hancock's determined to get Zoe off first, because he's for the people, after all, and this particular person matters the most.

Zoe mumbles a retort under her breath and pushes her palm down harder against the back of Hancock's head.

“You know, you didn't have to de-hair just for me. Just cause I look like a baby molerat's ass-” as Fahrenheit had so tactfully put it, “- doesn't mean you have to as well,” Hancock jokes.

“Ugh, _Hancock!_ Stop talking! Fuck, just-” Zoe groans and moves her hand away from his head to fist in the sheets beside her. Hancock pauses for a moment, then gives in to both of their desire and slides his tongue across to her clitoris. He circles the sensitive nub with his tongue, once, twice, three times, until Zoe is almost shouting his name. She's so responsive – he feels her body twitch every time he comes full circle around her clit, and he's certain that he heard a thread rip somewhere in the blanket that Zoe's nails are abusing. Hancock flattens his tongue against her, and licks from her entrance back up to her clitoris. He's never gotten down on his knees for anyone, but for Zoe? He'd stay there if he could do this until he dies.

“How's it feel?” Hancock asks before sliding his tongue inside of her. Zoe gasps as her back arches off the bed.

“You- _ah!_ \- You know how it feels,” Zoe informs him. Hancock moves his tongue from her as he grins and straightens up so he can meet her eyes.

He loves it when she's defiant like this - like she wants to push him to push her.

“Yeah. I just wanna hear you-” Hancock pauses as he positions the tip of his middle finger at her entrance, “- say it,” he finishes as he pushes his textured finger into her tight heat. Zoe's eyes flutter shut for a few seconds before she gazes down her body at him.

“Amazing. Great. Fucking – _oh_ \- fantastic. Don't be an asshole,” Zoe demands between breathless moans.

Hancock slides his finger out and leaves it pressing just inside her entrance. He's hard as hell, but he can't resist screwing with her.

“What? You want it in your asshole?” Hancock grins. Zoe growls and smacks the back of his head.

“Jesus Chri- you like this with all of the women you fuck? Or am I the only one that gets the Chatty Cathy Special?” Zoe's tone is irritated, but when she props herself up on her elbows again Hancock can see the slight smile at the corner of her lips. That's another thing he loves about her – she can take a joke, no matter what situation they're in.

“Maybe I just wanna make this last as long as I can.”

_Or maybe you're just putting it off because you're terrified you're gonna disappoint her._

“Oh, I plan on making this last as long as I can,” Zoe murmurs as she slowly pushes his head back to her heat. The way she's all soft and commanding finally snaps him out of his playful mood, and Hancock curls his fingers underneath her ass and squeezes as he returns his tongue back to her folds. Zoe's body tenses for a moment, before she lets out a noise that's somewhere between a yes and a moan as Hancock fucks her with his tongue. He can feel her juices covering his chin as he pleasures her, and with the way his unfortunately still covered cock is pressing against the mattress is making his head spin.

Hancock knows he ain't gonna last long in her.

He has to make her come first.

Zoe's enthusiastic _fucks_ and _shits_ and _Hancocks_ echo off the walls of the tin house over and over as Hancock drags his tongue up to her clit and moves a hand from under her ass so he can slide two fingers into her. They go in easily, and his cock throbs at the thought of replacing them.

When Hancock crooks his fingers slightly, Zoe goes completely silent and tense. Hancock worries he's misjudged the angle and hurt her, until one of her hands is frantically scrambling for purchase at the nape of his neck as her other hand holds the back of his skull as she rolls her hips as best as she can.

“Don't stop,” Zoe whimpers. Hancock pumps his fingers in and out of her faster and harder as he moves the hand that's gripping her ass to in between her legs, where he presses the tip of his middle finger against her clitoris and gently pushes it from side to side for the slightest of stimulation – she's already close, he doesn't need to abuse it. Hancock lifts his head up, and watches as Zoe arches her back and parts her beautiful lips to let out a howl as her inner walls convulse around his fingers.

“ _Shit_ ,” Hancock groans as he lets the pace at which Zoe's body relaxes dictate to him how quickly he needs to slow down what he's doing – he doesn't want to risk hurting her with too much pressure when she's just climaxed. When her back is finally flat against the mattress again, Hancock slowly slides his fingers out of her and moves both of his hands over her thighs to grip the sides of her hips.

“Well that was real nice,” Hancock says as his thumbs stroke lazy shapes over her prominent hip bones. Zoe snorts and looks down her chest at him.

“That's a fuckin' understatement,” she says breathlessly. Hancock grins – wide and proud. Yeah, he's still got it. He leans forward to place a kiss on the flesh of her mons, but Zoe wiggles back until her head is resting against the pillows before his mouth can make contact with her skin. Hancock looks at her with a slightly parted mouth. Her eyes are hazy and her skin is flushed so deeply it looks like she's been out in the Commonwealth during summer without protective clothing.

“Why don't you come up here so I can return the favour?” Zoe purrs seductively as she crooks a finger towards him. Hancock all but scrambles up onto the bed beside her.

“Uh-uh,” Zoe tells him when he tries to pull her on top of him. Hancock gives her a quizzical look.

“Take off your clothes, then bring it up here,” Zoe says as she pats her chest with one hand and attempts to guide him onto her with the other. The position she's implying they attempt gives Hancock all sorts of feelings. Really good feelings. Hancock turns his back to her to pull off his shirt and wriggle out of his pants, then turns around and moves to kneel beside Zoe's legs. His erection bobs so obviously as he moves that he's kind of a little bit embarrassed.

“You, you uh... you sure?” Hancock asks as he looks down at her from his kneeling position. His dick doesn't look as bad as the rest of him, but it sure as shit ain't pretty. He wouldn't blame Zoe if she didn't want to put it in her mouth.

Zoe rolls her eyes.

“Now,” she commands as she slides her head down slightly and pushes her arms out to her sides to give Hancock's knees room to slot in just under her armpits.

“Alright then,” Hancock says as he carefully climbs over and onto her. Zoe watches his dick with an amused smirk, and she snorts when the tip of it hits the tip of her nose as Hancock's trying to get into position without accidentally jostling the dressing.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Hancock grins. Zoe rolls her eyes again, but this time she laughs too. Hancock feels really silly – kneeling over her like this with his dick right in front of her face.

“You sure you're comfortable down there?” Hancock asks as he stretches out his arm to place his palm flat against the wall behind the bed. Zoe shuffles beneath him – slides down and to the right a little, then nods as best as she can.

“Oh yeah. You alright up there?” Zoe asks as she slides her hands up the knotted skin of Hancock's thighs. He can feel her hot breath on his shaft – it's making his head spin even more than it already is.

“Per-” Hancock chokes on the second syllable when Zoe moves her right hand from his left thigh to grip the base of his shaft so she can guide the textured tip into her mouth.

“Shit,” Hancock mutters as Zoe looks up at him and uses the hand on her thigh to push him even further into her mouth. She pulls back; lets her mouth depart from him with a wet pop and rests her head back on the pillow.

Hancock gives her a blank look. Was that it?

“Good?” Zoe asks with an unreadable expression.

“Course it was. You having second thoughts?” Hancock questions casually – he doesn't wanna make her feel bad. He understands. He's still still surprised they've even gotten this far.

“Never,” Zoe says, then her full lips are around him again and it's so tight and hot that Hancock thinks he's probably gonna ruin the evening with some premature ejaculation.

Zoe moves both of her hands around to his ass, and digs her fingers into his flesh. Hancock groans – feels good. He's definitely going to -

 _Definitely_ going to ruin the evening if she continues sucking him like this – she's using her grip on his ass to push him forward to meet her own forward motions, and every time she moans with a mouthful of him he feels the vibrations of it all the way up to where the indent of his belly button used to be. Hancock glances down at Zoe with heavily hooded eyes; her eyes are closed and her brows are pinched slightly in the middle as she works – Hancock has never seen her concentrating so hard on anything. He's flattered her attentions are on him.

Zoe shifts beneath him slightly to change the angle, and Hancock's nails dig into the brick and he lets out a feral growl as he feels the tip of his cock finally reach the back of her throat. He moves his free hand to her head, and gently threads his fingers through Zoe's tousled hair.

“Zoe... Zo...” Hancock tries, but hardly more than a groan comes out. Hancock drops his head against his arm and holds his breath. It doesn't look like she's gonna stop any time soon, so he's just gotta improvise.

_Think unsexy thoughts. Fahrenheit beating you with a baseball bat that time you accidentally ate the last sweet roll. K-L-EO running after you clacking her metal pincers together repeatedly yelling I'M A WOMAN, BABY, over and over that time she malfunctioned. Marcy Long's sour fucking face every time she looks at you. Zoe when she... when she-_

“ _Zoe!_ ” Hancock shouts a little louder than he intended to and with a tug of her hair that was a lot rougher than he intended to be. He should've known that going down the Zoe road wasn't going to bring up anything unsexy. Hancock opens his eyes and looks down at Zoe, who is looking back up at him with wide eyes.

“I am _so_ sorry. Was it the angle? Was there too much teeth? Did I-”

“No,” Hancock interrupts, “there wasn't anything bad about it. At all. That's the problem,” Hancock admits. Zoe's face immediately lights up with renewed spirit.

“You wanna fuck?” she asks, straight to the point.

“Nah, I wanna go for a stroll outside,” Hancock teases, and Zoe smacks one of his butt cheeks with the palm of her hand in response.

“Hey!” Hancock protests weakly as Zoe pushes him off to the side; giggling as she does so. It takes them a few moments of shuffling around until Zoe is on top of him – entrance over him and both of her hands pressing against his chest. She moves them up slowly and frowns.

“I thought you said you still had one nipple,” she remarks with feigned horror. Hancock looks down at his chest in genuine concern.

“What the-”

Zoe howls with laughter.

“You - didn't even - notice?” Zoe manages. Hancock sighs and flops his arms out on the bed either side of his body.

“I suppose you don't want me any more. Gotta uphold the Two Nipples – No More, No Less protocol. I get it,” Hancock grins despite the very traumatising realisation that he had in fact not noticed the loss. Zoe stops cackling and shrugs one shoulder.

“It's alright. You've still got this,” she says as she moves a hand to reach between her legs and guide him to her entrance. The tip of his cock only just managed to brush against her, but he can feel her wetness coating him. The mood changes back quickly, and Hancock has no problem adjusting.

_Who gives a shit about the damn nipple? You've got her on top of you. Nipple's old news._

Only, he doesn't want her on top of him again. He wants to be on top. Zoe squeals when Hancock flips them over, and lets out a choked sound of pleasure when Hancock rolls her onto her stomach beneath him.

“Mmm,” Zoe hums as Hancock leans down to press a kiss against her shoulder blade. He presses another one to her skin, and Zoe shivers beneath him. When he places a third at the base of her neck, he can feel the goosebumps that have risen like tiny hills across her warm flesh. Hancock automatically presses his hips down against her when she arches up against him, and they both sigh in pleasure as his cock slides along the crack of her firm ass.

“Please. No more screwing around,” Zoe pleads from beneath him. Her voice is half muffled from the awkward sideways angle her head is at, but he gets the gist of what she's saying nonetheless. Hancock shifts his weight to his left hand placed beside her head as he reaches down to guide himself to her entrance.

She's absolutely _soaked_.

“Tell me how you want it, love,” Hancock says; punctuating each word with more kisses. When he ends the sentence with a sharp nip to the skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, Zoe trembles.

“I... _fuck_ , Hancock, any way you like. I've been waiting for so long, I just-” Hancock pushes into her; filling her in one thrust. When he's bottomed out, he places his right hand beside her head.

“ _Yes!_ ” Zoe gasps as she tries to intertwine her fingers with his as best as she can. Hancock smiles, then pulls back until just the head of his erection remains inside of her. He can see the muscles in her back straining as she tries to stay still in the hopes that he will give her what they both want. Thoughts of her wound briefly flit through his mind as he takes in the sight of her, but she's not complaining, so neither is he.

“You want it-” a thrust - “ _hard?_ ” Hancock tries to growl – wants to keep teasing even though they said no more screwing around just to drive her even wilder, but the way she's digging her nails into the back of his palm and the way her shoulders are heaving with heavy pants and the way she's desperately trying to push back against him to get even just another millimetre of extra penetration tells him he's already succeeded in bringing at least one of them to the brink of going feral.

“Yes! Hancock!” Zoe huffs. Hancock grins, and fucks her. She's unbelievably wet and so damn tight he knows at this pace he's not gonna last long.

“Don't stop,” Zoe sighs as she wedges her right hand underneath her and between her legs. Hancock squeezes his eyes shut and pumps into her hard and fast, and it takes exactly six thrusts for her to come again. Zoe's voice breaks as she moans, and her inner walls clench around him so deliciously (and he thought it felt good around his fingers) that Hancock can't hold on any longer.

Shit, he hasn't asked-

“Come inside of me, John,” Zoe whimpers as her hand returns back to grip his. Her permission comes just in time, and he slams into her a final time as he empties himself into her. Zoe's still sensitive walls clench around him again, and he hisses her name as his orgasm hits him with ferocious force.

When he's finally come down and both of their breathing has slowed, he nibbles on the tip of her ear which earns him an endearing giggle. Slowly and carefully, he pulls out of her. As he does so, Zoe lets out a moan that's not entirely innocent. When he's finally on his back, his mind is already filled with thoughts of further naked debauchery they could engage in later. But now? Now they relax. They've earned it – hell, Zoe, especially. Hancock feels like tonight has been the only night where she's taken something for herself, and he's glad he was the one to give it to her.

“Come 'ere,” Hancock whispers as he lifts up his arm to make room for her beside him. She turns her head to face him, and gives him the sleepiest and totally fucking adorable grin he's ever seen.

“Don't go anywhere. I'll be back,” Zoe tells him before rolling off of the bed and quickly making her way into the bathroom. Hancock stretches out while he waits for her to finish using the toilet. When she returns, Hancock grins lazily at her. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything so beautiful (matted hair and all), so he tells her so. Zoe laughs as she climbs back onto the bed.

“That's just the afterglow talkin'. You'll be fine in the morning,” she teases as she settles against him in the nook that he has made for her.

It sure as hell ain't just the afterglow talking, but fine in the morning? Yeah. Yeah, he thinks he will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you. The comments, kudos, and bookmarks have meant the world to me. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you'd like to read more about Hancock and Zoe in the future, don't forget to subscribe to the series! :) you can also chat with me on tumblr at dreaminginstasis!


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